


Weather Me

by missgoalie75



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon, Post-Gilmore Girls: A Year In The Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 80,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23701780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgoalie75/pseuds/missgoalie75
Summary: A year in the life of Paris and Jess.
Relationships: Paris Geller/Jess Mariano
Comments: 45
Kudos: 119





	1. winter: instead of cursing the darkness, light a candle

**Author's Note:**

> **Characters/Pairings:** Jess, Paris, Chris, Matthew, Doyle, Rory, Lorelai, Luke, Paris’ children, Jimmy, Sasha, Lily, Liz, Doula, OCs; Paris/Jess, Lily/FOC, referenced Rory/Jess (past), Paris/Doyle (past)
> 
>  **Spoilers/Warnings:** Post-AYITL; references to past child abuse, references to substance use, references to mass shootings, scenes of a sexual nature.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Standard disclaimers apply, song lyrics are accredited within the fic. Title is from “I Done You So Wrong” by The Paper Kites, chapter title is from "Light a Candle" by Neil Young.
> 
>  **A/N:** This started coming together after AYITL aired and feeling as if the only characters that came out looking halfway decent were Paris and Jess. And since I’ve always loved their friendship and they were both stuck with mediocre-at-best love interests in canon, I figured they deserved a happy ending together. Thank you to Annie for your betaing and being able to read my mind. And thanks in advance to everyone else for reading this when we’re all diehard Lit fans. I’ll be going back to my regular scheduled programming.

Jess only has Paris Geller's cell phone number because he babysat her two kids as a one-time thing: he happened to be in the city on the same night that her babysitter fell through and she had to go to a gala. It wasn't a bad night – he ordered pizza for the kids, they watched some animated movies that he missed when he was their age; he occasionally texted Paris, who checked in every hour. The kids were supposed to go to bed at eight, but he let them stay up and they tired themselves out by nine. Paris came home at one in the morning, tired and a little tipsy and she thanked him with a kiss on the cheek, which he doesn't think she would've ever done if she were sober. The next morning, he made breakfast for the family and then left.

That was about a month ago and he didn't expect to hear from her so soon, let alone a week before Christmas:

From Paris Geller:  
_I'm assuming you're not doing anything for the holidays this year because I'm told you rarely see your family. So if that's the case, you can come to my Hanukkah gathering on the 24th._

From Paris Geller:  
_I've had to cut out 80% of my social circle due to the election and Doyle isn't going to make it until Boxing Day because he's a self-centered writer and screwed up booking a simple red eye._

From Paris Geller:  
_And my kids actually like you, so please._

Jess stares at the series of texts, completely flabbergasted.

From Jess Mariano:  
_I figured since you were in the medical field you would be in better company._

From Paris Geller:  
_You'd think, but they're either too wealthy and want to keep their $$$, they're self-hating Jews, and/or they voted for Jill Stein._

From Jess Mariano:  
_Yikes._

From Paris Geller:  
_It's been a rough 6 weeks._

He knows. After the gala, after she kissed his cheek in thanks, she proceeded to hiss about an asshole donor who loves his hunting rifles and money too much and how he's confident about the upcoming administration, tears of rage in her eyes. He couldn't judge her for that since Rory was incapacitated for days and can only imagine Paris just functioning for her kids' wellbeing.

(And he himself punched a hole in the wall at Truncheon at two in the morning on election night, drunker than he'd been in years, but nobody knows that.)

From Jess Mariano:  
_Yep._

From Paris Geller:  
_So, can you come? Incentives: you sleep in the guest room, you have access to my PRIVATE gym, state of the art kitchen, books._

From Jess Mariano:  
_You think you have me all figured it out don't you._

From Paris Geller:  
_Private. Gym._

Jess sighs and rubs his eye before cupping his jaw in thought. It's true, he hasn't gone out of his way to come to Stars Hollow for the holidays for a variety of reasons, most of which revolve around bad memories with Liz, and recently he's enjoyed spending the time either by himself or with a few other misfits watching _Reservoir Dog_ s (his choice) and _Die Hard_ (definitely not his choice).

From Paris Geller:  
_AND I'm buying good rugelach. I'm going to Park Slope for them._

He does have an appreciation for good rugelach. Besides, with Chris attempting to mend his relationship with his brother and going out of town and Matthew going to his grandmother's house, he thinks he can close up shop for a few days.

From Jess Mariano:  
_Do I need to bring anything?_

From Paris Geller:  
_No, just respectable clothes._

From Jess Mariano:  
_Do you still picture me like I'm seventeen wearing camo and baggy pants?_

From Paris Geller:  
_Obviously. I bet it shocks you every time to see my short hair._

From Jess Mariano:  
_Fair point. I'll come after lunch._

From Paris Geller:  
_No, you come FOR lunch. You're a guest. I will feed you._

From Jess Mariano:  
_I have a hard time imagining your cooking…_

From Paris Geller:  
_I'm going to take you out to lunch in a damn restaurant. Unless you have made up important work to get done on Christmas Eve._

From Jess Mariano:  
_Okay…I'll come for lunch._

From Paris Geller:  
_Great. See you then._

Jess reads over the exchange and shakes his head.

**

" _So, what are you doing for Christmas this year? Staying at Truncheon?_ " Luke asks a few days before Christmas Eve.

"No, I'll be in New York," Jess answers as he's doing sit ups on his bedroom floor.

" _Who's there?_ "

Jess sighs, does two more sit ups, and picks up the phone by his hip. "Are the Gilmores around?"

" _What, why?_ "

"Because I don't want to deal with a reaction right now."

" _Okay, weirdo, no, I'm in the storage room. Why is this a secret?_ "

Jess runs his teeth over his bottom lip. "Paris."

" _What?_ "

"Paris Geller. I'm doing Hanukkah with her and her kids."

" _…But_ why?"

"Because she asked and I figured why the hell not." He puts the phone back down and does another set of sit ups.

He does a few before Luke asks, " _Is this about Rory?_ "

Jess clenches his jaw as he propels himself forward. "Not everything is about her."

" _You know you're always welcome –_ "

"Thanks, Luke, but I'm good."

" _Okay, if you say so…but_ Paris _? Really?_ "

"You know, she's not terrible."

" _She's terrifying._ "

She's a force of nature, but Jess just thinks at the end of the day, Paris Geller is someone who takes what she wants by sheer will and has always had a hard time finding – and keeping – people in her life who respect it. There's nothing terrifying about it. (Although the glint in her eyes when she talks about certain things like politics and women in television is a little bit concerning.)

" _You know Rory and Lorelai are going to find out about it._ "

Obviously, but Jess doesn't want to have a conversation about it with Rory, who will probably be territorial about it. "Whatever, at least it's not right now."

" _What are you doing?_ "

Jess finishes his last sit up. "Sit ups. Now pushups."

" _You still have to tell me how the hell –_ "

"Bye, Luke, talk to you later." Jess hangs up on him, flips over, and begins his first rep of push ups.

**

(Look, Rory being pregnant is…whatever. None of his business.)

**

Even though Paris told Jess not to bring anything, he buys bagels because that's typically his go-to 'thank you for hosting me' gift since everyone loves a New York bagel. And he buys jelly doughnuts since he wasn't sure if she just bought rugelach and also, he was hungry on his way in and wanted a quick snack. And going by the way her collarbones are sticking out and her face appearing a little gaunter than the last time he saw her, he's glad he brought both.

Gabriela and Timóteo hug him and make him promise to draw and play games and do other kid things that will end up exhausting him. But he likes them – they're surprisingly warm children, especially considering who gave birth to them.

"Alright, let's get moving, we have a reservation!" Paris says over their excited squeals. "Coats on! Hats too!"

"Where are we going, exactly?" Jess asks.

Paris rolls her eyes. "Don't worry, I picked American food."

"I wouldn't have minded diversity," he says with an amused smile. "I grew up with six different types of cuisine in the same block."

"There's Chinese tomorrow night."

"Wow, really? Something tells me you didn't adhere to that Jewish tradition growing up," he laughs.

She smiles. "Definitely not, but my mom ate a handful of almonds and coffee on a daily basis, so that was out of the question."

"You're going to have to buy a vat of lo mein," he warns her as he gets down on a knee to help Gabriela zip her coat.

"Don't worry, you won't starve," she scoffs, ushering her kids out the front door. "And, obviously," she adds, as if he were crazy to suggest not ordering enough lo mein to feed a family for a week.

"Just making sure," Jess sighs, shutting the door behind him.

**

Jess didn't know much about Hanukkah prior to living with Matthew. Before, his knowledge stemmed from "The Hanukkah Song" and living in some predominantly Jewish neighborhoods. Now, he has a better understanding – he even knows the blessings recited when lighting the menorah. But he butchers the pronunciation, according to Matthew, so he was never expected to do the honors.

"Who remembers the blessings of the first night?" Paris asks.

Jess raises his hand.

"Who out of the _practicing Jews_ in the room remembers the blessing of the first night?" she clarifies dryly as her children giggle.

"Can't I be an honorary Jew?" he asks. "I bet if we put it to a vote, I'd win." Jess grins at her children, who beam back at him.

"Be quiet, James Taggart. Gabriela? Your Hebrew School teacher said you were doing well," Paris says, running her thumb over the apple of her daughter's cheek.

"Who's James?" Timóteo asks.

"A character from a bad writer," Jess answers.

"You can't judge a writer by _one_ book," Paris scoffs.

"Ayn Rand writes the same sh–… _garbage_ every time. One is enough in this particular instance. Otherwise I'd agree with you. Let Gabriela recite the blessings."

She just scowls and shakes her head.

Jess technically only knows the first two blessings that are said every night of Hanukkah, so when little five-year-old Gabriela stumbles over a word, he whispers the correct one in her ear. He lights the middle candle with a Bic lighter from his pocket when Paris gives him a nod. Gabriela and Timóteo both keep a hand on Jess' when he lights the rightmost candle after the third blessing is recited.

"You did beautifully," Paris says.

"Couldn't have done it better myself," Jess adds, putting the candle back in the menorah.

"Tomorrow, you can light the second candle," Paris tells Timóteo, who nods.

"I'm going to be perfect," he announces, very much an echo of his mother.

Jess will be very interested in how Timóteo will grow up, because at seven he's already capable of being a little terrifying.

Jess gives Timóteo a stack of coloring books and a nice set of colored pencils since he seemed to have the bigger passion for art the last time he saw him. Gabriela receives a large set of multicolored beads and different kinds of strings to make her own jewelry.

"What the _fuck_ , Mariano, what is this gift giving genius?" Paris hisses through her teeth.

"Nice alliteration. I thought about getting them the likes of _The Phantom Tollbooth_ and _Jacob Have I Loved_ but I figured you should do the honors in a couple of years."

She looks away innocently, eyes falling toward the closet where he's sure she's keeping her children's gifts. He feels such a strange sort of fondness for her.

After the kids are tucked in, Paris opens a fresh bottle of wine and Jess places a gift for her on the kitchen counter.

She stares at it blankly for a second. "Really?"

"You really have a horrible preconception of me," he jokes. "It's not much."

She finishes pouring the glasses and puts the wine back in the cooler before opening the box, which has an Amazon gift card and a nice, expensive pen.

She smiles – a soft, genuine one that probably hasn't been seen by many.

"Okay, I got you something too," she says, going over to the closet outside of the kitchen.

Jess opens the neatly wrapped gift and laughs, finding an Amazon gift card on top of a pile of different sized Moleskine journals, all black.

"I'm a cliché, aren't I?"

"Yeah, but it's fine. We all have our faults."

He snorts and sticks the card into the topmost journal. "Got any more latkes?"

So, they sit on the couch with a plate of reheated latkes, a bowl of leftover blue and white jellybeans, and full glasses of wine.

"This upcoming year is going to _suck_ ," Paris whines.

Jess nods in agreement.

"I swear to God, if I knew this was going to happen, I wouldn't have had kids. I'm devastated that my children will be exposed to this bullshit and will probably have to fix it their entire lives."

He frowns. "Not that I'm Mr. Optimistic, but I'm hoping we won't totally fuck ourselves over irreparably."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I have a hard time imagining this future fucked up administration will turn your kids into assholes. I'm sure you're instilling good feminist values."

"Honestly, Timóteo I think will bully his peers into believing the right things." Paris' eyes drift to a photo of her kids on the wall. "He reminds me of me so much, it's scary."

"He glowers like you, it's unnerving," Jess agrees. 

"Gabriela has her moments when it's like I'm looking in a mirror, but she's definitely got Doyle's demeanor."

Doyle McMaster. Jess barely knows a thing about him and yet already doesn't like him. But clearly he's doing a number on Paris and he feels the urge to ask, which he's tempted to ignore. But he's here, on her couch in her multimillion dollar home and he recognizes himself in her - the need to talk and the struggle to open his mouth. He sighs. "How's that going?" 

Paris sighs. "I can't figure out how it happened. He's not the same. And neither am I in some respects, but –"

"You feel like you've pretty much stayed the same," he guesses.

She stares at him. "Is that bad?"

Jess shrugs. "I don't think so."

They drink and eat in silence for a few moments.

"I can't believe she's pregnant," Paris says flatly before bringing the glass to her mouth. She takes a long drink. "I know she was going through…I don't know. A rough patch. But… _pregnant_?"

Jess vividly recalls sitting across from a desk, sipping half-terrible whiskey as Rory talks about having no underwear. He doesn't bring that up, but he hums in agreement and drinks.

"Is it weird to be disappointed in a friend? Because I feel that way."

He shrugs again. "Don't know. Probably not."

Paris stares at him over her glass. "You were a dark horse."

"What?"

"I mean, I never would've guessed this scenario happening in a million years."

"Is it the hair?" he jokes.

"The success, the lack of attitude, the rippling pectorals."

Jess just stops himself from laughing out loud. "Please don't ever say that again."

"Oh, come on, you're jacked, it's ridiculous, who are you?" She finishes her wine. "What are you even doing with your abs, because I can't for the _fucking_ life of me get rid of this pouch of fat _right_ below my belly button."

"Are we going to work out together tomorrow morning?" Jess half-jests, but judging by the way Paris' eyes flash with determination, he knows she takes the suggestion seriously.

"I'm up at seven and I think the kids will be in a food coma."

He shakes his head and tips back the last of his wine.

**

As much as Jess enjoys doing plenty of things on his own, it's actually not bad exercising with Paris. They keep headphones in for most of the time and they somehow motivate each other – mostly by Paris staring holes into his face while either of them is completing sets. While they're finishing up, both of her kids come in and exclaim "Happy Chrismukkah!" which Jess didn't realize was still a thing people outside of his friend group – still stuck in the mid-2000s – said to one another.

"Can you make pancakes again, Jess? Please?" Timóteo asks.

"Yeah, please!" Gabriela echoes.

"Depends if your mother –"

"Oh, don't worry," Paris interrupts. "I have everything you'll need. I was prepared for this request." 

Jess laughs. "Of course."

**

He makes chocolate chip pancakes for the kids and omelets for himself and Paris, even though they end up eating a pancake or two.

Paris gives her kids a few gifts to open in the spirit of Christmas, taking pictures and sending them to Doyle. They change into new winter-themed pajamas and watch holiday-themed movies.

At one point, Paris orders a disgusting amount of Chinese food to have delivered, but Jess offers to pick up.

On his walk, he calls Luke.

" _He lives._ "

Jess rolls his eyes. "Merry Christmas to you, Uncle Luke."

" _Merry Christmas. How's it going over there?_ "

"Very nice."

" _Seriously?_ "

"If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be here. Have you seen Liz yet?"

" _We're having dinner later. She didn't call you yet?_ "

"I'm sure it's coming."

" _It's Jess, want to say hello?_ " Luke asks distractedly.

Jess bites back a sigh.

" _Hi, Jess, Merry Christmas!_ " Lorelai says. " _Remember, if you need help, just text the SOS emoji and we'll send a brigade._ "

"Pretty sure the brigade has the day off along with the post office – I think I'll survive in the meantime."

" _Wish Paris and her kids a Happy Hanukkah._ "

"I will."

There are a few seconds of silence until: " _Merry Christmas, Jess._ "

He wets his bottom lip. "Merry Christmas, Rory."

" _I have another chapter done – at this rate, maybe by spring, the first draft will be done._ "

"Your rate is definitely better than mine at the moment. I hope when you're done you'll consider submitting a draft to a smaller publishing company."

" _Truncheon is number one on the list_."

Jess smiles. He reaches the restaurant and comes to a stop. "I gotta go, but I'm sure I'll see you around."

" _Bye, Jess._ "

He hangs up and for a moment, he considers the fact that next year, she'll have a few-months-old baby, and desperately wishes for a strong drink.

**

(There's a point when Liz calls and while the conversation is brief – he speaks at length with Doula of all the gifts she received and she thanks him for his gifts that he sent in the mail – Paris at one point slides him a beer and they cheer to being better than their shitty mothers. When the kids go to sleep, they watch _Reservoir Dogs_ and _Miracle on 34th Street_ and eat more Chinese food. Jess considers making more of an effort to hang out with Paris and her kids with the new year.)

**

Doyle arrives early in the morning and there's a weird moment when he sizes Jess up, which Jess doesn't want to think about or consider.

But Jess leaves soon after, letting the Geller-McMaster family have their time alone. Paris sends Jess home with leftover latkes and Chinese food and a box of rugelach. He's not one for hugs still, but he's okay with hugging Gabriela and Timóteo and Paris.

On his drive home, Jess sneaks a rugelach or two, considers where he's going to hang up the drawings Timóteo gave him, his new beaded bracelets made by Gabriela rolling up and down his wrist.

(He's also very excited to hole himself in his room and read, but that's just because some things just won't change.)

**

So, it's 2017. New Year. Not really 'New Jess' – he never understood that stupid bullshit of January first being a clean slate.

Especially when so many people are just hungover, which has happened with Matthew and Chris and half the poets they feature in their zine. He rolls his eyes at Matthew and this new poet named Beat, short for Beatrice, which was his original name prior to transitioning. How they managed to get onto Jess' bed without his realizing is beyond him.

He goes downstairs and debates on making himself breakfast or just going to the diner on his way to the gym. Before he finishes the consideration, he goes back upstairs to change and grab his wallet.

Jess' diner blesses him with a perfect egg sandwich with cheese that's melted and bacon that's crispy. The coffee is shit, but he still drinks it while walking outside.

He gets a call and he's surprised that it's Paris.

(Sure, they've been texting semi-regularly since Hanukkah, but he figured they weren't really…the calling type. How unfortunate.)

"Hey."

" _Happy fucking New Year, this already sucks_ ," Paris snaps.

"Hey, he hasn't even been sworn in yet." It's only half a joke.

" _It's too early for that. I'm alluding to the fact that I got a pity-invite to a New Year's party and I bailed, faking my daughter being sick because I couldn't stand all the_ married couples _and I hung out with the fifteen-year-old babysitter who reminded me too much of myself at that age and we cheered. Perfect ending to a shit year. And now,_ this _year, I woke up to karma kicking my ass because my daughter has an ear infection._ "

Jess winces. "Sorry, Paris. Gabriela giving you a hard time?"

" _I medicated her, she's fine_." She sighs. " _How was your night?_ "

"Fine, I guess. Except for waking up with two people in my bed."

" _Some would say that's excellent_."

"Not if they're all guys and I'm straight. Besides, threesomes aren't exactly an interest of mine."

" _Bullshit – that's pretty much on every guy's bucket list._ "

"Seems like a lot of work."

Paris laughs. " _That means you'd probably be good at it._ "

"Maybe. The world will never know. But it's a nice thought."

After a particularly bad gust of wind, she asks, " _Are you outside?_ "

"Yeah, heading to the gym. It's going to be so empty."

" _Wow, that's the happiest I've ever heard you. Creepy. Well, enjoy it._ " Jess pauses a light and looks both ways before crossing the street. " _Let me know next time you're in the city. You don't have to spring for a hotel._ "

"You really don't have to –" he starts.

" _Built in babysitter and my kids love you? It's for me, dumbass_." He can hear her smile. " _You'd also be doing my nanny a favor, giving her a break_."

"You know, when I go to the city, I actually have to do work."

" _Sure, but you work relatively normal hours. Not like me._ "

Jess rolls his eyes as he turns the corner towards his gym. "We'll see. I gotta go. Later."

" _Bye._ "

Jess hangs up and exhales before stepping inside.

**

He tries to disengage on the first day of the new presidential administration, but Paris is a partial masochist and is texting updates. And downstairs, Matthew and Chris and a few other people are jeering and probably throwing shit at the television.

Jess sighs and puts his headphones in his ears, scrolling through his music collection before landing on _Led Zeppelin III_. He nods along to the first few seconds of "Immigrant Song" and focuses back on his novel.

He's gotten through most of side one when he's distracted by an e-mail notification from Rory. He tries to ignore it and go back to writing, but after a song and barely writing a few words, Jess goes into his inbox and pulls up her email.

_Hey Jess –_

_Please see attached for the first ten (!) chapters. It's getting a little much doing the 20th century thing of mailing pages back and forth._

_Take your time! No rush! Let me know what you think ☺_

_\- Rory_

__He clenches his jaw and takes his headphones off, opening the attachment, which takes a few seconds for it to load fully.

Her book so far is definitely…revealing. Certain things she writes about puts a lot of shit into perspective. Things he had an idea about, but couldn't really formulate properly at seventeen. She's being honest in a way that that's refreshing and he appreciates it. Jess knows the stress and vulnerability that comes with showing your cards. 

Honestly, the most interesting bits so far are about Lorelai – her journey from the upper echelon of society to working her way up at an inn with a baby is definitely a page-turner, but he wonders about how Lorelai would feel after reading this, how personal it is.

She's getting closer to writing about Chilton, which means soon she'll be writing about Dean. And him.

Jess flip-flops between being curious and dreading the fuck out of reading about himself. He doesn't like lingering on the past, finds himself avoiding it like one would avoid pressing on a bad bruise. There's a strong divide between before and after age twenty and he likes how there are few people that have been exposed to both: there's just Luke, Lily, Sasha, sometimes Jimmy when he doesn't annoy the crap out of Jess, sometimes Rory when he's not feeling nostalgic, and now Paris, kind of.

Paris didn't exactly _know_ him as well as the others, but she grasped enough that she understands the difference.

He reads over the last three chapters without much editing the first time – just obvious spelling or grammatical errors. The second time he adds comments – _what do you mean? Clarify, add more, consider removing – going off track, seriously this happened?  
_  
So it goes.

"Hey," Matthew says, jolting Jess out of his concentration. "Alicia and Chris are going food shopping – text what you want to either of them."

Jess wordlessly takes out his phone, copies the note he started a grocery list on, and sends it to Alicia since Chris likes to assume they have half of the things on any list.

"How's the writing going?"

"It was fine. Now I'm just editing."

Matthew comes up to Jess, squinting at the laptop. "Rory's?"

"Yep."

"Has she written about you yet?"

"Nope."

Matthew side-eyes him. "Monosyllabic Jess," he tells him.

Jess exhales. "Sorry. Having some regrets about agreeing to edit her book."

"It's weird, honestly. I mean, you guys have barely spoken until a couple of months ago."

"Yeah, it is, but…" He groans out of frustration. "She was my first real friend, what can I say?"

"And first love."

Jess shoots Matthew a baleful glare.

"Your words," his friend points out happily.

Yeah, when Jess was basically blackout drunk, but he's done arguing that point. _In vino veritas_ , or in that particular case, _in whiskey veritas_. Jess rubs his eyes.

Matthew sighs. "You can tell her you're busy. Or just, not be as prompt because you _are_ busy." His tone drops into seriousness."You don't have to be at her beck and call."

"I'm not," Jess says, a little too sharply.

"I'm just saying – I don't like how she tends to make you miserable more often than not."

Jess doesn't have an argument for it, so he checks his phone again. Paris sent him a gif of that Iraqi journalist throwing a shoe at Bush with the caption: _bets on what year this is going to happen to 45_.

Jess snorts.

"What?"

He shows Matthew the text, which makes him laugh. "You watched her kids, right? And you went to Hanukkah at her place."

"Yeah, she's a riot."

Matthew snorts. "I almost forgot about that beautiful moment in politics."

"Warms the heart, doesn't it?"

"Next time we're in New York, we need to meet her."

It almost throws Jess off, introducing Paris to his life in Philly when she's always been solely part of Rory's life. But at this point, is that really the case now? He more frequently texts with Paris than with Rory these days.

"It's your funeral," Jess says.

**

Jess isn't one to get involved politically. He has his beliefs and he considers himself educated to a certain extent – no thanks to any school he attended. Since he's become involved at Truncheon, he's interacting with people who canvas for mayors and representatives and senators and presidents.

But when he overhears the TV downstairs about a Muslim ban, he looks to Beat, who has abandoned his sketch to stare into space.

"We have to do something," Beat says in a whisper.

"We've gotta fucking protest this shit!" Matthew yells from the other room. "And on Holocaust Remembrance Day? These _motherfuckers_!"

After news about a protest occurring at JFK, Jess figures it's only a matter of time before other cities start participating.

The next day, he gets a text from Lily – a picture of LAX and hundreds of people standing with her and Sasha and Jimmy.

One of their artists comes by and informs them that there's a demonstration happening at PHL tomorrow, so Jess resigns himself to going, even though he hates crowds. But his discomfort doesn't compare to what millions of people are going through, so he offers to drive and carry a sign that someone else has made (it just says 'no Muslim ban' – it's not creative). 

They manage to get home in time for dinner, so they go to a packed Venezuelan restaurant and they're comped a round of beer for their support. His phone buzzes with a text.

From Paris Geller:  
_Are you done protesting?_

From Jess Mariano:  
_How the hell did you know I was protesting?_

From Paris Geller:  
_I follow Truncheon's Instagram. You were in the corner – I recognized your arms._

__From Jess Mariano:  
_It's not my thing._

__From Paris Geller:  
_You did a mitzvah – think of it as going on my behalf. I was there in spirit._

From Jess Mariano:  
_You mean you didn't want to go to Queens and protest in the freezing cold?_

From Paris Geller:  
_Fucking assholes were checking passengers AirTrain to make sure they had plane tickets. Plus, I think the kids are a little young for this. I took them to watch the Women's March, which was good._

From Jess Mariano:  
_Please tell me they wore hats._

Paris sends him a picture of Gabriela and Timóteo wearing matching pink hats that makes him smile. He saves the picture.

From Jess Mariano: _  
I can't believe you didn't send that to me._

From Paris Geller:  
_Get a fucking social media account and you would've seen it.  
_  
From Jess Mariano:  
_Damn, no need to be so harsh._

She sends him a few more pictures.

From Jess Mariano:  
_You're forgiven._

__He shows the pictures to Matthew and Chris. Matthew can't handle any sort of cuteness without making weird noises and can't look at the photos for too long.

"They should be in a magazine for children's clothes or like, those expensive outdoor furniture catalogues with the picture-perfect white families in them," Chris says, swiping through them. He looks up to Jess and raises an eyebrow. "Mom is hot?"

Jess sighs. "Those kids get all their good genetics from her."

"Is that your weird ass way of saying she's attractive?" Chris jokes.

"I can say she's attractive, that's just not a focus."

Chris rolls his eyes. "Okay. Well, I won't say no to your having a buddy."

"I think you guys can benefit from having someone that's not involved in our scene," Jess says, wondering why he feels like he's making a sales pitch. "It's very refreshing not talking to creative people."

"You _are_ a creative person, you shit."

"Not really though."

Chris groans and leaves the room.

**

Jess doesn't take stability for granted, so while his colleagues and acquaintances find his scheduled life dull, he just shrugs it off. He's long stopped feeling bitter about his childhood and the lack of control he had over the beginning of his life; he's only told Matthew and Chris about it in broad strokes and that's all he's willing to do.

So, he's feeling a little betrayed when Chris answers the Truncheon line and hears him say, "Yes, absolutely, we'll all be there. Thank you so much for the opportunity." Once he hangs up, he yells in triumph, chanting, "Random House, Random House!"

Matthew is an idiot and starts chanting with him until Jess interrupts them with, "What the fuck is going on? What did you just agree to?"

"Imprint, motherfucker!" Chris gets into Jess' face and gently puts his hands on either side of Jess' face. "And they are _very_ excited to meet _you_."

Jess jerks out of Chris' hold and sighs. "Seriously? Do I need to remind you of HarperCollins?"

"Okay, that was fucked up, but this is Penguin _motherfucking_ Random House! They're the number one publishing company! They just want to meet us."

Jess rolls his eyes and groans. "You guys need to calm down."

"You can't deny it would be really helpful," Matthew points out. "More security, protection from a large corporation…"

"Creativity restrictions, poaching, lack of control," Jess counters.

"Negative Nancy."

"Chris, I'm tempering expectations."

"Negative. Nancy." Chis punctuates with his hands, a remnant of rewatching _The Sopranos_ too many times.

"Asshole."

"We're going," Matthew interjects. "It's happening in two weeks. Look alive!"

"Fuck you."

"Love you too!"

Jess tosses the book he had been reading onto the table and stands up. "I'm outta here."

**

From Jess Mariano:  
 _My deadweights at Truncheon scheduled a meeting at Random House without my consent on February 7. Do you want to offer me a bed and then fuck over the other two?_

 __From Paris Geller:  
_I'm curious about the deadweights, but I'm happy to fuck them over with the sleeping arrangements._

From Jess Mariano:  
_Thai food, no alternatives._

__From Paris Geller:  
_We should've conspired way earlier. Deal._

__Well, at least Jess will have access to a private gym.

**

While walking home from the gym a week later, he gets a call from Paris.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

" _Um…is this Jess Mariano?_ " a young voice asks.

"Timóteo? Yeah, is everything okay?" Jess asks again, now more concerned.

" _Yeah! I wanted to call you because everyone in my class was assigned two states to do presentations on and I got Pennsylvania and California and my mom told me you lived in California too, so I was wondering if you could share cool, interesting stuff?_ "

Jess does his very best not to snort. "I didn't live in California for that long, but I plan on going there at the end of the month for a little bit. When are the projects due?"

" _I'm doing California first and that's due in April. Pennsylvania is due in May._ "

"Well, let me know what you'd like to know and I'll see what I can scrounge up from my brain."

In the background, he can hear Paris yell, " _You're the only person I know who is close to having an eidetic memory, so I expect you to give him a thesis!_ "  
_  
_ "What does that mean?" Timóteo asks.  
_  
_ "Photographic memory,"Jess answers with a roll of his eyes.

" _I heard that eye roll, Mariano._ "

"It was _at_ _you_. Timóteo has never said anything eye roll-inducing since I've known him, while I distinctly remember you saying at least ten ridiculous things within the first hour I met you."

Timóteo laughs.

" _You can't laugh at Mommy! You're supposed to unconditionally support me until you realize I'm a fallible creature who is capable of making egregious errors. And then you hold it against me for the rest of time –_ "

" _You_ always _say you're not perfect and I don't think I'm messed up, so it's fine._ "

" _You're still too young to make that call._ "

"Not true. You can know for sure pretty young," Jess points out. "Give the child more credit."

" _Puberty, Mariano._ Puberty."

" _Gross_ ," Timóteo complains.

"Yeah, it's really gross," Jess agrees. "Although be grateful you won't have to go through what Gabriela eventually will."

" _You don't even know_ ," Paris retorts.

"Nope!" he says happily.

" _Okay, uh, thank you, Uncle Jess for your help! I really appreciate it!_ "

He smiles, he can't help it. "You're welcome. Put your mom on for me, please?"

There's a shuffle and then he hears, " _You're so much nicer to children._ "

"Is that why you encouraged him to ask me for help with _school_? You're testing me, Paris. You know my history."

" _My kids are fucking spectacular and I knew you wouldn't be able to say no._ "

"Classic manipulation."

" _I know, I still got it._ "

"Although I don't know why they want to learn about California from me when their dad lives out there part-time. I don't have much to offer in that department except which shops on the boardwalk still sell CDs these days."

" _Yeah, well, Doyle is very busy with his screenplays, so you have to catch him in the right mood to help with, and I quote 'dumb elementary school work.'_ "

Jess grimaces. "Jesus."

_"Yeah, so, while I think experiencing rejection is a healthy thing growing up, I think it can be a little much coming from your father and you're under the age of ten._ "

"Hmm"

" _Thank you. I appreciate it too_."

"Don't thank me yet – I'm planning on dragging you and your kids down to Philly for a firsthand experience."

" _You know I can't go near a Philly cheesesteak._ "

"Sorry, rules are rules. You're required to eat at least three the first time you visit."

" _Screw you. Ugh. Maybe._ "

"I think the kids these days call it 'fuck it day.'"

" _Instead of 'cheat day'? I actually love it._ Maybe."

"You gotta have the cheese wiz."

" _Bye_."

"Bye."

Jess snorts and his phone immediately rings again with Chris calling.

"Hey, what's up?"

" _Can you be a darling and pick up some paper towels?_ "

"You're so fucking lucky I just turned the corner."

" _Got distracted and did four sets instead of three?_ "

"No, I just got suckered into helping a seven-year-old with a school project. How do you help young children with homework? I never did homework."

" _Why are you asking me?_ "

"You have a little brother, I don't know!"

" _Well, I barely helped him because he was a fucking genius and helped me with algebra when he was a freshman in high school. How dare you bring up this deep-rooted trauma._ "

Jess scoffs. "Please, you paid him to do your homework and never bothered."

" _Never paid, just did his chores._ "

"Exchanged services, whatever."

" _Shit, are you actually nervous?_ "

"I mean…fuck. A little? I don't get kids. I wasn't much of a kid at least in terms of like, naiveté."

" _Good thing you're not talking to Matthew he'd cry over your sad childhood._ "

"Which is dumb since I think his childhood was pretty fucking shitty too."

He enters the corner store and makes a quick grab for paper towels.

" _It definitely was. You don't pick argyle sweaters to wear unless you were tortured into liking them in the first place._ "

Jess barks a laugh as he places the paper towels by the cashier and takes out his wallet. He mouths a thank you and shrugs off a bag, carrying them under his arm on his way out.

" _We really want to meet Paris and her offspring._ "

"If you call them her offspring in front of her, she'll castrate you. She's one of those moms that generally hates kids but will defend hers to the death."

" _Oh, so like you._ "

"I don't have kids."

" _You only tend to like kids that are related to you._ "

"Lily is basically my step-sister. And Dee is my half-sister."

" _You nearly kicked one of Doula's classmates for pulling her hair when she was in kindergarten._ "

"He was a little monster – he smirked, I fucking saw it. _And_ , she told me that she heard he pushed a girl down the stairs."

" _You're cut from the same cloth,_ " Chris practically sing-songs.

Jess rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I'll see you at home." He hangs up on him.

**

Although, Lily isn't a kid anymore – she's twenty-four going on twenty-five, which is fucking _scary_. Sometimes, he still thinks of her as that eleven-year-old girl reading in a wardrobe with a book light.

Even though now she's an English teacher at Compton High School, where the graduation rate is less than seventy percent and she's one of the only white people in the school. From the outside, it's absolutely nuts: this Santa Monica native with coke-bottle glasses and dark blonde hair down to her back working there, but she does it. And loves it.

He doesn't see her more than three times a year, depending, but they've gotten the texting thing down and they talk on the phone often enough. She's one of the few people he can tolerate talking to on the phone since they can go stretches in utter silence, which is very hard to find.

Once he's sure school is done on her coast – plus another two hours since she typically stays late to work – he gives her a call.

" _Hey, I'm still at school_ ," Lily says as soon as she picks up.

"You didn't have to pick up. You could've called me later."

" _I'm babysitting some of my kids' siblings from the nearby elementary school while they're at work. I'm not getting out of here until eight or nine, my time._ "

"Jesus, Lil, that's late. When did you start doing that?"

" _They pay me by completing homework assignments and papers. It's a great set up. Besides, I only do it if I know they're working. They have to show me the hire letter before they can ask me._ "

"Geez, do you do this every day?"

" _I do it every other day. Special requests can be made, though._ "

"I'd ask if you still have friends, but I was at your twenty-third birthday and you definitely have more than me."

" _And I actually have a long-term girlfriend._ "

"Speaking of, are you actually picking me up from LAX or is Val doing it?" 

Val – or Valerie – is Lily's girlfriend and an algebra teacher at Compton. She looks so much like Aaliyah that she'll also answer to Baby Girl. She has no musical gifts whatsoever – quite the opposite.

" _I am, I promise. That was a misunderstanding._ "

"Your writing down the wrong time and begging your girlfriend to make the trek wasn't a misunderstanding, that was a fuck-up. I thought you were an English teacher?"

" _Shut the fuck up, dropout_ ," Lily says with a laugh. " _I swear I'll be there._ "

"Good."

" _I made some excellent reservations, including Sugarfish_ –"

"Do you think I'm made of money?"

" _You're frugal every other time of the year. Anyway, Sugarfish –"  
_  
"You know I just want to go to In-N-Out Burger."

" _We'll do that too. Sugarfish -_ "

And she lists more restaurants that has Jess rethinking about ordering in food for the rest of the month. There's no point in arguing with her since he knows she's capable of eating ramen for two weeks straight, but sometimes she likes the finer things in life, especially if it's being paid for by someone else.

"How's Ronnie?" Jess asks.

She sighs. " _He's okay. He's starting to eat more. He's officially wheelchair-bound now._ "

He frowns. "I'll give him a call."

" _He'll like that. He'll also try to convince you to take him to the boardwalk so he can make his grandson nervous. You can't give in._ "

Oh, Jess will definitely give in. Especially since it's not about terrorizing his grandson to make sure he's running the merry-go-round smoothly.

There's a sudden yell from a child in the background and Lily says, " _I gotta go. Text me later. Love you._ "

She hangs up before he can say anything back.

(He's said it before to her. Quite a number of times, actually, but sometimes he's still that twenty-year-old asshole, stumbling over feelings.)

**

He gets revisions back from Rory. He lets them sit in his inbox for three days before he opens the attachment and considers it progress.

**

Jess is arguing about posting a picture that features him on Truncheon's Instagram page.

"No _way_ ," Jess says with a glare that used to scare people back in his youth, but it's been used too many times on Chris and Matthew, as evident by Matthew's brush off. "How did you even _take_ this?" Jess demands.

The picture that Matthew and Chris are contemplating on is of Jess doing pushups while reading a book by a kid who's two years younger than Jess and makes him feel inadequate and yet inspires him to do better. But as his quasi step sister would say, this is a 'thirst trap.'

"Never you mind. The lighting is perfection," Matthew says, blowing up the picture, which infuriates Jess further. "Look at your arms."

"This is a solid marketing campaign," Chris adds, looking over Matthew's shoulders. "We could probably increase the contrast a little bit."

"Oh, absolutely," Matthew agrees.

"Why are you torturing me with this?"

"Pictures that feature you have the most likes!" Matthew points out.

"Yeah, you're hot," Chris adds.

"Plus, it speaks to the quality of the book that you didn't even notice that we took this picture."

Matthew has a point. And the book was really good – one of the best he's read that's come out over the last five years. "Fine," Jess begrudgingly relents.

"Yes!"

Jess' phone rings.

"Next task: getting Jess Mariano an Instagram."

"You're out of your _fucking mind_." Jess picks up once he sees it's Paris. "Do you have an Instagram?"

" _Fuck Facebook,_ " Paris spits with such bitterness that the obvious answer is yes.

"Got it. What's up?"

" _When exactly are you going to LA?_ "

"I was originally going to go February twenty-sixth, but I had to move it, so now I'm going March fifth and leaving the eighteenth."

" _Jesus, two weeks?_ "

"Believe it or not, I actually have some roots there. There's also potential business with the UC bookstores, so. Why?"

" _My kids are spending half of their spring break with Doyle. I don't trust him to be able to pick up my kids from the airport in a timely manner. I know it's a huge favor since LAX is a hellhole –_ "

"It's fine – I'll get them. What day are they flying in?"

"The eleventh. I'll send you the flight info so you know the gate."

"Okay."

" _Thank you_ ," she sighs in relief.

"You sound tired," he points out. "You okay?"

" _I'm interviewing since my director who oversees my clinic is now pregnant herself and, quote, 'doesn't think she'll be coming back.' I'm trying to train the associate director, who isn't ready by a longshot, so I'm also looking as a backup. There are a lot of idiots in this world._ "

"Tell me about it."

" _I also have to fly out to LA for a conference, so I can at least pick up my kids and fly them back to the right coast._ "

He snorts. "The west coast is _not_ that bad."

"You've clearly never been to Portland."

"Why would I go look for hipsters in another city when they've taken over mine?"

She laughs loudly, which makes him smile. " _Check your email for my kids' flight info. I'll take you out to dinner._ "

"Sugarfish," he says at once.

Silence.

" _How do you even know that one?_ "

"My quasi-stepsister made a reservation and my soul hurts thinking about it."

" _What's her number – let me talk to her._ "

"She's a teacher that's three hours behind you who works late. Your clocks do not match."

" _Fine, just tell her that I'm changing the reservation and adding one more person to it._ "

"No kids?"

" _I pride myself on their expensive palate, but even I recognize the limits of a five-year-old._ "

"We can pick something else so they can join."

" _Does she even like kids?_ "

"She's a teacher," Jess points out.

" _You said she teaches high school – there's a big difference between elementary and high school._ "

"She'd beg to differ. But yes, I swear she likes kids."

" _If she wants to do Sugarfish then she should get what she wants,"_ Paris says firmly. _"She deserves it._ "

He smiles a little. "Thank you."

" _Don't thank me. I'm never going to be able to pay you back for –_ "

"No one's keeping score – at least not me. Seriously, it's fine. We're friends. I'll let you know when you owe me. Deal?"

"… _Really? We're friends?_ "

Jess wets his bottom lip. Sometimes he has these moments too – not understanding what's supposed to be normal. "I'd say so."

" _Thanks. I have to go – but talk with your quasi-stepsister, check your email._ "

"Okay. Later."

" _Bye._ "

He shakes his head and hangs up.

**

Jess drives into the city because he can, even though he can't stand Matthew making distressed noises at cars not signaling, cutting him off, pedestrians jaywalking. Thankfully, he can park in Paris' spot and they can take the 1 train downtown.

The meeting goes well enough and the contracts they have drafted are sent to their lawyer – a childhood friend of Matthew's who doesn't charge an insane amount. Jess still has him send a copy over to Paris, mostly because she demanded it as soon as he reminded her about the meeting, but also partly because she'd be able to sniff out bullshit better than anyone else.

"I can't believe you're not staying at a hotel with us," Matthew says as they turn the corner to Paris' block.

"You're a few blocks away. Besides –"

"Private gym," Matthew and Chris intone at the same time.

"You're getting a home cooked meal still," Jess says, walking up the stairs to Paris' townhouse.

"Is it technically home cooked if a nanny does it?"

"I can't imagine Paris cooking. You'll see." Jess rings the doorbell.

He immediately hears the running of Tim and Gabriela and smiles.

Clementina opens the door and greets them. " _Olá_ , come in, Paris is upstairs, she'll be down shortly. She's meeting with contractors." She steps to the side and lets them in.

"Really? Why?" he asks her before he's attacked by Gabriela and Timóteo. "Hey," he greets them, placing his hands on the tops of their heads. 

"Hi, Uncle Jess! I missed you!" Gabriela says, looking up with a big smile.

"She's too cute," Matthew whispers, dropping his head onto Chris' shoulder.

"Gabriela, Timóteo, this is Chris, and that's Matthew. They work with me."

"Delegated as coworkers," Chris says with a shake of his head.

"Am I going to be called Uncle Matthew?" Matthew asks, bringing a hand to his mouth.

"Yes."

Matthew makes a weird squealing noise.

"Contractors?" Jess prompts Clementina. Timóteo lets go of Jess and turns to Chris and Matthew, throwing out his hand and introducing himself.

"An elevator is finally being installed. Hopefully," Clementina says with such relief and happiness that makes Jess feel very, very badly for her.

"How many floors is this?" Chris asks, looking up at the ceiling.

"Five," Jess, Gabriela, and Timóteo reply.

Chris winces. "Yeesh."

"I'll be down in a minute," Paris yells.

"You need help?" Jess calls up.

Silence.

"Yeah."

"You just want to get some cardio in there," Matthew says.

"Can I get a piggyback?" Gabriela asks. "Please?"

"Requests from any of the top floors?" Jess asks the kids.

" _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ , it's on my nightstand, please," Timóteo says at once.

"My cell phone, probably in the foyer on the third floor," Clementina adds. "Thank you."

Jess gets on the floor so Gabriela can get on his back.

"If you take a picture, I'm dumping your carcasses in the Hudson," Jess says without looking back at Chris and Matthew.

"Damn it," Matthew mutters.

Gabriela giggles in his ear and he goes up the stairs. He gets a little winded by the fourth flight, but he's blaming it on the extra weight on his back.

Paris is in the fifth-floor office with architecture drawings spread out on the desk, two contractors on either side of her.

"Hey, how's it going?"

Paris looks up, and oh, she's pissed. Jess moves Gabriela off him and gently puts her down. "How about you get your brother's book and Clementina's phone and bring it downstairs."

"Phone, Harry Potter," she recites back and rushes off. He turns back to her mother.

"Alright, what's the issue?"

"Full gut-renovation," Paris snaps. "It'll cost hundreds of thousands of dollars and it'll give me a headache for months. We'll have to move out." 

Jess winces and looks to the contractors for confirmation.

"Yeah. It's gotta happen sooner or later – the Department of Buildings is requiring them for residences five floors and up."

"Have you talked to Doyle? Doesn't he –"

"No, I bought it with my money. My brilliant idea."

"Prenup?"

"Yep."

"Okay, well." Jess pauses. "It's either that or moving."

"Moving?" She groans.

"I know," he says sympathetically.

"Just give us a call if you decide to move forward," one of the contractors says.

They shuffle out of the room so it's just him and Paris.

She has her hands on her hips and she's staring down at the drawings. Her face pinches and she brings a hand to her mouth.

"Hey, you can think about it. There's no rush," Jess says, sticking his hands in his pockets, praying she doesn't cry.

"It's so gross, thinking that this was going to be a forever home," she admits quietly. "I hate being wrong."

"You weren't wrong, Paris. It can still be a home. You just really need an elevator."

She smiles briefly. "I know. I lost three nannies before Clementina because of those fucking stairs. They've been great for my legs, though."

Jess smiles.

"Maybe I should look for something else," Paris muses. "New Year, new…a lot of things."

"Could be fun."

"You've clearly never had to apartment-hunt before."

"Oh, I have," Jess corrects. "When I was a kid."

She stares at him for a moment. "New York," she clarifies.

"Yep."

He knows she gets it – that it's bad. That there's no way he's exploring that now. Paris sighs and runs a hand through her hair.

"Hi," she greets him finally.

"Hey."

"I like the facial hair."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, looks good."

Jess brings a hand to his face and drops it. He stopped shaving a couple of weeks ago, figuring it was worth seeing how a beard would come in. He doesn't hate it. "Thanks."

"Your coworkers are here?"

"They're actually friends."

"Do they have allergies?"

"Matthew has a shrimp allergy, but it won't kill him."

"Whatever, that can be fixed with some forced feeding." Paris walks around the desk and towards him, patting him on the chest. "Let's go."

Once they get to the stairs, Jess looks to the bannister. "Hey, have you –"

"No."

"Oh, come on."

"This is small potatoes compared to the stairway of my parents' house in West Hartford. It spiraled."

"I can imagine. Was it fun?"

"I broke my wrist."

"Was it fun before you broke your wrist."

She looks him right in the eyes. "Oh yeah."

**

Jess never would've imagined this happening in a million years: Paris Geller meeting Matthew Steinman and Chris Alston, but here they are, in her living room, shaking hands.

"So, how'd the meeting go? I'm getting those papers sent to me, right?"

"Yes, Paris," Jess sighs.

"Good, because it's a monopoly out there. Strong consume the weak."

Jess didn't do a good enough job prepping them for her, judging by their expressions. But is there really a way to prep anyone for interacting with Paris Geller?

They tell her what happened during the meeting, what a timeline would be in terms of acquisitions. They tell her that there's a distinct possibility that Jess might be separated from Truncheon, even though Jess spent half the car ride convincing them that it wasn't going to happen. She stares at him from the corner of her eye for a second before focusing back on Matthew.

"He's valuable as a writer outside of the press. They may want a separate or additional contract with him," Paris says matter-of-factly.

Jess clenches his jaw and doesn't say anything.

"Well, obviously I need the contract before any decisions should be made –"

"We also have a lawyer –"

"I hope you're not paying much for them."

"Discount – childhood friend. And she's great," Matthew retorts.

"Not as great as me, I can guarantee it."

Chris looks to Jess with raised eyebrows. Jess shrugs.

Gabriela and Timóteo are tired of grownup conversation and beg to be entertained. Chris is decent with kids and Matthew kind of treats them like they're little adults, which they find hilarious.

Paris is checking emails on her phone, occasionally pausing to watch Chris and Matthew.

They get fatigued by them after a while, which Jess gets, so he takes over with make believe scenarios. It baffles him how kids get so entranced in these imaginations – he has no recollection of doing the same.

" _Jantar está pronto_ ," Clementina calls out.

" _Obrigado!_ " Gabriela and Timóteo chant.

"What does that mean?" Jess asks.

"Thank you in Portuguese," Gabriela tells them.

He didn't realize that the kids were learning Portuguese. When Chris and Matthew leave to use the restroom, Jess goes into the dining room, surprised to find Paris conversing with Clementina in smooth Portuguese.

"What?" Paris half-asks, half demands when she catches him staring.

"I didn't know you were fluent in Portuguese."

"Yeah, well, Nanny was Portuguese. She was more of a mom to me than my actual mother. Clementina is actually her niece."

Clementina smiles sadly.

"Was?" Jess asks.

Paris exhales. "She passed away two years ago."

"I'm sorry," he says to both of them.

"Yeah. Me too." Paris clears her throat. "Sit down over there. Gabriela's specific request."

Jess does as requested and it's worth it for Gabriela's pleased smile. 

"Beer?"

"You didn't have to buy beer for us," Jess says. "But yes, please."

"I figured it would warm me to your friends. I have Stella, Miller High Life –"

"The Champagne of Beers," Chris and Matthew say at the same time when they come into the dining room.

"Miller High Life is great," Jess adds.

There's no arguing that Clementina is an amazing cook – enough so that even the kids are willfully eating the brussel sprouts, which Jess absolutely loathes most of the time.

"Clementina should get a medal of honor for her cooking. Especially since I don't think anyone hates brussel sprouts quite like Jess," Matthew says at one point, coming back to the table with a third round of beers.

"Nobody can cook them right, including me," Jess says. "When they're raw, they're gross, when they're burnt, they're gross. There's a balance to be had."

Matthew inclines his head, a silent _see what I mean?_ "He can go on for another twenty minutes."

"You're full of it," Paris cuts in. "He's succinct enough to get his loathing across within five minutes."

"Full of what?" Timóteo asks.

"Full of baloney," she explains smoothly.

Chris snorts and hides it with his napkin.

Since it's a school night, the kids only get an hour of television after dinner and then they're put to bed. Chris and Matthew thank Paris for the dinner and she shakes their hands again. 

"I like her. Hugging is terrible," Matthew says, a little tipsy.

"Tell me about it," Paris agrees, granting him a small, friendly smile.

"Text us when you're ready to go – I'm getting a dozen Levain cookies," Chris says to Jess.

"You have fun waiting in that line."

"Don't make fun of me, otherwise I won't get you the chocolate cookie with the peanut butter chips."

"That's the best one," Paris points out. "You should listen to him."

"Bye guys," Jess says pointedly.

"Wait," Paris blurts, rushing into the kitchen. "Take beer!"

"If you insist!"

Jess shoots Chris a look.

"I like her," Matthew mouths. 

Paris comes back with two six packs and hands them to Chris and Matthew before opening the door for them. Once it's shut and locked, Jeess looks at her with a raised brow.

"Thoughts?" he asks.

"They're chuckleheads, but they don't bother me."

"That's a relief," he says half joking, half serious.

Paris smiles. "They're good with my kids, they have a grasp on the current political climate, they occasionally made me laugh – I won't say no to hosting them again. It's good to put faces to names." She looks down at her watch and sighs.

"Need to do work?" Jess asks.

"I should, but fuck it. Want another beer? Have to finish what's left." She's already halfway into the kitchen.

"Why?"

"All those carbs? I'd rather eat them, not drink them."

When Paris comes back, she hands Jess a bottle expectantly.

"Fair enough." He takes it, twists off the cap and pockets it. He takes a pull. "Would the kids have to switch schools? If you had to rent while this was happening." He takes a seat on the couch.

"No, it's all private. They could stay if we moved too." Paris twists the cap off her bottle and tosses the cap onto the table.

"Would you get out of the Upper West Side?"

She side-eyes him. "If this is your attempt to get me to look anywhere below Union Square, it's never going to happen."

"How do you have the mentality of someone who grew up in the eighties? It's fine. Most of it is fine. I wouldn't recommend Alphabet City past Avenue B for you, but a lot of it is fair game."

"Not going to happen," she insists.

"Can you be below Central Park?"

Paris makes a face.

"Oh, come on. If you live by Gramercy Park, you get a key. Is there anything more elitist than having access to a private park in Manhattan?"

She smiles. "I'll think about it."

"Where does Doyle live?"

"Tribeca."

"God, can he be any more of a cliché?" 

"He's trying his goddamn best." Paris sighs and rests her back against the couch. "I'm a broken record, but I really can't figure out how the fuck this happened."

"People change." Jess shrugs. "Or experience midlife crises."

"He's thirty-three."

"Climate change is wrecking the planet, we don't have much time."

She rolls her eyes. "Point. Still, we made fun of assholes like that, and now he's one of them."

He snorts.

"What?"

"I said something similar to Rory years ago."

"When?"

"After the disastrous outing with Rory and Logan."

When she doesn't respond after a moment, Jess looks at her and she's staring blankly at him. "When the hell did _that_ happen?"

"Uh, right after her twenty-first?"

"Oh my god." Paris gasps, stands up and starts pacing. He's a little worried that she's malfunctioning, but she's got a maniacal glint in her eyes suggesting that her brain is working a hundred miles an hour. " _You_ – it was _you_. You convinced her to go back to school!"

"I mean –"

"And you met Logan, which explains that sudden breakup when she got back to Yale –"

"Uh –"

"And _that_ was when he proceeded to sleep with all those fucking bridesmaids thinking they were broken up, like fucking Ross from _Friends_ –"

"They were on a break," he points out. "Although sleeping with someone else five minutes afterwards is messed up and Rachel had every right to be pissed."

"Wow, I've never heard a guy say that," Paris says, her shock evident. "And I didn't think _you_ watched _Friends_."

"I don't, it's osmosis from everyone else in my life watching it. I hate it."

"Same here, it's dated and racist." She takes a breath and then takes a long drink. "I can't believe this."

"What?" It comes to him. "That she never told you. About my coming to see her."

"Why _did_ you go to see her?"

"To show her my first book." Jess hesitates for a moment. "To thank her."

"Wow." Paris exhales a laugh, bringing her free hand to her hip. "You know, she mentioned it in passing. That you saw each other. I assumed it was in Stars Hollow. That you told her about _The Subsect._ " She starts pacing again and then stops. "You know I read it. Junior year of college."

"You did?" 

"Yeah. I was trying to find her copy of _Crime and Punishment_ and stumbled upon it during my search. I didn't hate it."

"High praise," he says genuinely.

"Yeah. I told her to tell you when you next ran into each other."

Jess tries to smile. "Yeah, well. Message got lost."

She narrows her eyes at him. "I've liked your other books too. But I take it that Rory never told you."

He shrugs and shakes his head.

Paris exhales sharply. "Well, now you know. Now _I_ know. Except you have to tell me exactly what happened between you and Huntzberger. I'm sure it's good."

"You better drink some more of that beer."

She follows his direction and he tells her about planning to grab dinner with Rory, of Logan driving up in his Porsche, his breath smelling of scotch, the mocking of his book, _you seem very obsessed with length_ , Rory's unsubtle desire to sink under the table, his yelling at her outside of the bar.

Jess finishes off his beer and shuts his eyes. 

"You did what no one else was able to do – you did what _Lorelai_ couldn't do." Paris' tone of awe and amazement is a little too much for Jess to process.

Jess clears his throat. "She would've come around to it eventually. I caught her at a good time."

"Still. You should get a little credit."

"Well…thanks. I guess."

She plops down next to him and pats his knee a few times.

"Where is the douchebag anyway?" Jess asks.

Paris snorts. "I don't know. London, I guess. He's engaged to some French heiress, last I read."

"Huh. Doing the family proud?"

"Yeah. For a moment there, I thought he'd actually go against the grain. But one too many failures had him crawling back to _Daddy_ , who is such a scumbag."

"Mitchum? He looks it. Actually, you'll _love_ this…" Jess lifts his hips up to get his phone out of his back pocket. "Lola, this artist who lets us hang her artwork every once in a while, did this whole multi-series collage critiquing the news cycle a couple of months ago with the election…one of which features…"

He pulls up the picture – dozens of newspapers and online clippings – all from Huntzberger's media empire – superimposed over Mitchum's headshot with FASCIST painted in red over his eyes. There's also ' _fake news is a fascist invention'_ painted multiple times in black.

Paris laughs out loud, taking his phone in her hands to text it to herself. "This is amazing. Please tell me she hasn't sold it yet."

"I can ask her."

"God, that's fantastic." She scrolls through the other pictures and sighs. "We're so fucked. You know, I put money away a couple of weeks ago. In case it gets…well. I had extended family in Germany who were sent to gas chambers. It's an overreaction, but…"

"Maybe it isn't," Jess finishes for her. "I understand. Matthew thought about running off to Canada during a panic attack that night – his grandma was a Holocaust survivor."

"Never forget, never again," she says with a snort. "We'll see." Paris looks at him. "You're not Aryan either."

"No, but I can always stick around for a while and punch some Nazis." He hands her his beer. She takes it and finishes it off. "I gotta turn in."

"Gym at seven?"

"Most likely."

"Please do ask about that piece of art – I'll put it in one of my offices." Paris stops in the doorway of the living room, the empty bottles in hand, her expression considering. "Would you find it really annoying if I emailed you potential listings and you could tell me about the neighborhood?"

"You've been living here for almost ten years," Jess counters.

"Yeah, but I go to the same places and rarely venture out. You actually know this city. It's your home in a way that it's not mine," she says shortly, her face flushing a little. 

"You've the attitude of a real New Yorker though. Besides, you're the one with the New York license," he reassures her.

She smiles. "Night, Jess."

"Night."

Jess goes up a flight of stairs to his assigned guest room. He changes into sleep clothes and brushes his teeth and finds himself itching to write. He left his laptop in Philly, so he takes out a Moleskine notebook and starts with places in the city he'd show Paris – everything below Houston Street, but staying clear of the Financial District and TriBeCa and City Hall. He'd take her to at least one hole in the wall joint in a basement, even though she'd leave after five minutes, cursing at him. He'd focus on the Lower East Side, that has the best and worst memories – some streets he'll avoid, fearing that the seven-year-old version of himself will still be there, mouth bleeding from one of Liz's boyfriends hitting him in the face.

Jess thought about telling Rory more about it when he was seventeen going on eighteen, but didn't because he knew she wouldn't know how to react with anything other than hurt and pity, which he knew he couldn't handle. He alluded to it with Matthew and Chris, who have their own demons, some uglier than his. And he told Lily a lot of it, when she asked him point-blank when she was sixteen and he figured out within fifteen minutes of meeting one of her friends that she was in an abusive relationship. 

By the time his hand is cramping and he's written through a chunk of the notebook, Jess realizes he's writing something else.

He wants to blame it on reading Rory's work-in-progress – this confessional type of writing that's being forced into a digestible narrative for the masses – but that's lazy. 

"Fuck," he mutters, tossing the notebook and pen in the direction of his bag and turning the lights off to sleep.

**

On the drive back to Philly, everyone is quiet until Jess pulls onto the West Side Highway.

"So…that's Paris Geller."

"Yep."

"She's terrifying."

"Not really," Jess finds himself saying.

From the corner of his eye he can see Chris looking at him as if he's grown two heads. 

"I guess I'm used to her abrasive nature."

"Abrasive is a mild description."

"Well, she doesn't hate you."

"Really?"

"Tim and Gabriela like you, which tends to soften her opinion on some people. Plus, I think she likes the raw fear she inspires in Matthew."

"She reminds me of my seventh-grade social studies teacher who scared the shit out of me. I had nightmares about her well into high school."

"'Hot for Teacher'?" Chris jokes.

"Nothing will kill a hard on faster."

Jess grimaces. "Don't need to know that."

"My question is – how is Rory friends with her? I cannot imagine Rory handling her for more than five minutes," Chris says.

"They were reportedly enemies the first year or two they knew each other."

Chris snorts. "Paris hated her, didn't she."

"It was mutual – Paris was an asshole."

"So, she was worse?"

"Surprisingly, this is a quasi-mellow version. Everyone grows up sometimes."

Chris hums in response.

(As soon as the words came out of Jess' mouth, he didn't believe it either.)

**

Jess will take his feelings about flying to the grave: he doesn't like it, the turbulence freaks him out, and he's just…not at his best. He drinks rum and coke, which he hates, so he downs it quickly to get a buzz and he hopes for a smooth ride.

Thankfully, this flight to LA is seamless and he lands on time and in a decent enough mood.

He waits outside the terminal for Lily to drive by in her sensible Honda. Hopefully she got the key scratches off her door.

This time, at least she's prompt – he doesn't wait for more than a couple of minutes. When she parks, she beams at him and he stops short.

"You cut your hair!" he comments stupidly.

She shakes her head, her chin-length hair flying into her face. "I didn't realize how _heavy_ my hair was. I donated it – Locks of Love."

Jess tosses his bag into the backseat and he gets in the passenger side. Lily updates him on school. She has about eighty kids total, some of them are kids she's had the year before, but less than the year before. She tells him about a freshman who is currently on a Hemingway binge and lives with a mother who reeked of alcohol during back to school night.

"What did you need that you didn't get?" Lily asks him. Sometimes she does that – before all the students she's had and has, the only person she knew that went through hardship was him.

"You," Jess answers honestly.

She smiles a little.

Lily lives in a small condo in Gardena with Val, which she detests, but it's cheap and on the bright side, there are plenty of excellent Japanese restaurants, given the high density of Japanese companies and Japanese-Americans living there. She misses the beach, which is hilarious to Jess since they both hated it when they lived under the same roof. He makes sure to stay at a hotel a few blocks away from the beach to appease her.

"What's new with you?" she asks. "And if you say nothing, I'm taking you to the Beverly Hills Hotel for brunch."

He grimaces. "I have a new friend."

"Wow, that's big. Who is it?"

"Rory's friend from high school, Paris."

Lily furrows her brow. "She…didn't constitute as a friend before?"

"An acquaintance, barely. I never saw her much, even when Rory and I dated. And I only spent any significant time with her a few months ago when I agreed to watch her kids while she went to a work event. She came home drunk and we commiserated about the election."

She nods understandingly.

"I spent Hanukkah with them too."

" _What?_ "

"She asked, I had nothing better to do. It wasn't bad."

She raises her eyebrows. "Married?"

"Divorced. He lives here part-time, actually. A screenwriter."

She grimaces. "Ugh."

"I know. A fall from grace, according to her. He used to be a journalist – worked for the _Hartford Courant_."

"Midlife crisis?"

"Who knows."

"Kids cute?"

Jess hates that word. "I like them."

" _Really_?"

"They have strong personalities and they're smart," he explains almost defensively.

"It's always a special day when Jess Mariano likes someone under the age of twenty."

He rolls his eyes.

"I know Doula was the only person on that list. How is she?"

"Fine, I guess. Weirdly enough, advanced in math – she's skipping a grade come the fall. I guess that's the dormant Danes gene between her and April."

"And yet you continue to gift her books."

"She enjoys reading, she's just not like us."

Lily grins. "Very few are."

Yep, very few are.

**

This is the first time that he's staying in a hotel. In the beginning when he'd make visits, he'd stay with Sasha and Jimmy, but then when Lily was in college, Jess started staying with Ronnie to give his son a break from taking care of him.

Now that Ronnie is in an assisted living facility and Jess has figured that he has earned enough to not have to crash on couches or futons, he can spring for a hotel for at least half of his stay, especially when supplemented by Truncheon.

He stays in a motel a few blocks away from Venice Beach and while he checks in and drops his stuff off, Lily calls Sasha and Jimmy to confirm when to meet for lunch.

Jimmy is…well. He's good. They have periods of time when they don't talk much. Jess has taken to Lily and he's good with that. He used to speak more with Sasha more as a necessity when Lily was younger, but Jess is on decent terms with both of them, hence agreeing to lunch.

"How's everything?" Sasha asks once they sit down at a table overlooking the beach. 

"Good, the same."

"Uh, not the same," Lily interrupts. "Random House wants Truncheon _and_ Jess as one of their writers."

"It's still in progress, don't get ahead of yourself."

Jimmy winces. "It's not like – "

"No, it's not a repeat of HarperCollins," Jess sighs.

"That wasn't right," Sasha says, looking through her menu with a pursed mouth.

When Sasha first found out about HarperCollins, she cursed so much that it even shocked Jess, who had heard it all. It was definitely the best part to come out of that situation.

"Let's not talk about it. Let's talk about the Dante's Inferno that can't get its shit together in Santa Barbara."

Jimmy pauses with a beer to his mouth and glares at Jess, who smiles innocently.

(Eighteen years of abandonment earns Jess a lifetime pass of busting Jimmy's balls.)

**

Whenever Jess comes back here, he tends to visit the usual haunts – the boardwalk, checking to see what stores are still surviving, if there's anything new. He goes to the merry-go-round and says hello to Ronnie's grandson, who tells him which days of the week are best for Jess to visit his grandfather. He reads outside a lot in March since he misses doing that in the winter back home.

This time, he's going to UC Santa Barbara, LA, Irvine, and Riverside to talk about Truncheon publications, figuring that they have the manpower to expand and Jess wouldn't mind taking trips here. And Chris would be extremely grateful since he complains about the weather in Philly from October until May.

By the time Jess picks up Paris' kids from LAX, he's got color back in his face and seeing them carry their peacoats makes him consider not coming back to the east coast until June.

They're escorted by a female flight attendant, who definitely checks him out and notes the lack of a wedding band. But the kids distract him by running at him and nearly toppling him over.

"Geez, for such small people, you're strong," he says once he stabilizes himself.

"Uncle Jess! I have so much to tell you," Gabriela says as they walk toward the parking garage. He's rolling their shared suitcase with one hand while holding Gabriela's hand with his other. Timóteo walks confidently ahead. "Mommy said I could pick what I want for my birthday party theme. I picked mermaids."

"Very cool. _The Little Mermaid_ inspired?"

"A _little_ , but not a lot."

"Will there be pirates?"

She glowers at him, which he tries not to laugh at. " _Boys_."

He looks to Timóteo. "Mermen exist – like Aquaman."

Tim looks back at him and rolls his eyes. "I want to be a shark."

"Fitting."

Jess gets a toothy smile in response.

**

Doyle, of course, lives in Silver Lake, which is a pain in the ass because there's always stupid traffic on I-110.

While at a standstill, he goes through his Sony Walkman to find something to listen to.

"What's that?" Timóteo asks.

"A cheap music player since I refuse to give Apple my money."

He leans forward as best he can with the seatbelt hindering him. 

"What do you like to listen to?" Jess asks.

"I like Ariana Grande," Gabriela shares.

Jess exhales. "Great."

"And Taylor Swift."

"Awesome."

"And Fleetwood Mac."

A pleasant surprise. "Now you're talking." Jess glances at Tim through the rearview mirror. He's reading a book. "Do you like them, Tim?"

"I do. I like the old music. I also like emo."

"You like _what_?"

Tim closes his book and looks up. "Emo music. My friend Annie got me into it. Her aunt who is twenty-five got _her_ into it. I like the emotions."

"Okay, so, who's your favorite?"

"My Chemical Romance. I also like Fall Out Boy, but only their older stuff."

Jess laughs out loud. "I understand. Sometimes the older stuff is just better."

"Yes. Annie gave me some CDs by Motion City Soundtrack. I don't know who they are, but it's a cool name."

"I like Panic! At the Disco," Gabriela adds.

"They're okay," Tim allows.

_All these weird names_ …Jess thinks with a shake of his head. He puts on _Rumours_ for the rest of the ride to Doyle's house, pleased that they seem to know a lot of the lyrics.

**

Dropping off the kids takes all of one minute: Gabriela rings the doorbell, Doyle opens the door and ushers the kids in, takes the suitcase from Jess' grasp, shoots him a quick thanks, and shuts the door.

"Bye!" Jess says to the closed door.

"Bye, Uncle Jess!" Gabriela and Tim say at the same time, voices muffled from the door.

He shakes his head and goes back to his rental car and calls Paris.

"Kids have been picked up and dropped off," he informs her.

" _Great, thank you. They were okay after the flight?_ "

"Yeah, they definitely conked out on the way here. Not cranky at all."

" _Good. Was Doyle an asshole?_ "

"He seemed like he was in a rush."

Paris scoffs. " _Please. Whatever. I'm sorry for him._ "

"You're not responsible for his behavior."

" _I'm more apologizing for the fact that because of me you're exposed to his bullshit. Every man is responsible for his own bullshit_."

Jess laughs. "Okay. Well, I'm here if they need anything before you get here. If Doyle somehow is indisposed."

" _Disgusting_ ," she spits out. " _Okay, bye._ "

"Later."

Jess turns on the music and blasts "You Make Loving Fun" on his way to Santa Monica.

**

A few days later, Jess is out with Lily and Val, who had just gotten out of work and are waiting impatiently for drink orders. His phone buzzes with a number he doesn't recognize, but it's an LA area code. "Mariano," he says when he takes the call.

" _Uncle Jess?_ "

He straightens in his seat. "Tim? What's going on?"

" _We're at my dad's house and he's been in his office for a long time. He won't let us in. He told us to watch TV._ "

The sudden, sinking feeling he gets in his stomach makes him nauseous. "Have you eaten?"

" _Yeah, Dad gave us lunch. I don't know when._ "

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Have you tried asking him to come out?"

" _Yeah, and then he started playing music really loudly._ "

"How long is it going to take to get to Silver Lake from here?" Jess asks Lily quietly.

"An hour."

"You're kidding," he says, mouthing a _fuck_ , before saying to Tim. "Okay, I'm leaving now, but it's going to take me a little while, maybe as long as an hour because of traffic. I need to call your mom now, but once I'm done talking to her, I'll call you back. I promise."

" _…Okay_ ," Tim says, his voice small.

"Hang tight. I'll call you in a minute."

He hangs up and immediately calls Paris while they all walk to the car. It rings twice before he's sent to voicemail. He calls again, it rings once, it goes to voicemail. He calls a third time, it rings twice, and she finally picks up.

" _What happened?_ " she hisses.

Jess starts the car. "Your son just called me from Doyle's house. He's apparently working in his study and has left Gabriela and Tim alone for at least an hour. I'm heading over there now. Do you want me to beat the shit out of him or just take them out of there?"

The pause is so long Jess thinks he lost the call for a moment, checking the screen that he's still connected. "Paris?" he tries.

" _He's never done that before_ ," she says flatly.

"And he won't again once I get there. Just tell me what you want. If I take them, is he gonna call the cops on me?"

" _The_ cops _?_ "

"Attempted kidnapping, whatever. It happens. I just need to know so I can let Lily know to get her parents involved."

"Are you planning to go to jail? This is _amazing_ ," Lily whispers. "Finally, I get to see the bad boy."

"White privilege," Valerie points out.

"Absolutely," Lily agrees. "I just want a mugshot to send to Stars Hollow – that Taylor guy will love it."

Jess shoots Lily a glare. "Paris?"

" _No, he won't do it. He thinks the LAPD is even worse than the NYPD. I have a dinner and I can't get out of it for a couple of hours –_ "

"It's not a problem. I'll watch them –"

"We'll watch them," Lily interrupts, her face pressed against his to speak into his phone. "You have nothing to worry about – do what you need to do for work."

_"…Thanks. I appreciate it. Text me updates. I'll try to get ahold of Doyle but he now prefers_ texting _, which is a pain in my ass –_ "

"I'll be there as fast as I can." Jess hangs up and sighs.

"What, did he just leave them to fend for themselves all day?" Lily asks.

"Sounds like it."

"I thought he wasn't supposed to be a bad dad," Val says.

"Yeah, well, I think he's getting used to not taking care of children." Jess calls back the number Timóteo called from and he picks up at once. "Hi, Tim. I spoke with your mom. She has work, but I'm coming to get you. Make sure you and Gabriela are ready to leave when I get there, okay?"

" _How long?_ " he asks.

"I'm hoping by five. Traffic is moving right now, but this city is known for it getting really bad."

" _They should have subways._ "

"Yes, they should. But no city is like New York, right?"

" _Right._ "

"But Philly ain't bad. I know your mom is planning a weekend so you can do your school project. Have you ever had a Philly cheesesteak?"

" _No. It sounds good though._ "

"It's really good. How's your sister doing?"

" _She's coloring in my notebook. She was crying._ "

His hand tightens on the steering wheel. "That was nice of you to let her do that."

Tim doesn't say anything.

"I'm coming with my step-sister and her girlfriend. They really want to say hi to you," Jess hands the phone over to Lily. "Please," he half-begs.

She takes it with a nod. "Hi, Timóteo, my name is Lily. I'm not _technically_ his step-sister since my mom and his dad never got married…well. There was a ceremony, but I'm not sure if it was legal. But we're as good as."

Jess tunes them out because he needs to not revert back to being the eighteen-year-old fuckup who punches people, even if it's justified.

**

They arrive at Doyle's house in forty-five minutes, which was partly due to Jess speeding when he could. He knocks on the door five times and it's immediately unlocked and opened by Tim, whose angry expression melts into relief.

"Where's Gabriela?"

Tim turns his body to point towards a door in the back. Gabriela is sitting in front of it, staring.

"Let me talk to your dad," Jess says, stepping inside. "Tim, this is Lily, my step-sister, and Valerie, her girlfriend."

"Hi," he says, uncharacteristically shy.

"Hi, Timóteo, nice to actually meet you," Lily says happily.

Jess walks over to Gabriela and crouches down to her level. "Hey," he says quietly.

She's been crying, tears dried on her face, which crumples before she drops her head onto his knee. "Hey, it's going to be okay. Let me just tell your dad you're coming with me. We'll get ice cream later. Strawberry and Nutella, right?"

She sniffles and looks up. Nods. Continues looking up.

He exhales and reaches over to pick her up. She holds on tightly and hides her face in his neck. His knock is louder than he intends.

"Doyle," Jess calls. "It's Jess. I'm taking your kids for the night. Ask Paris for my number once you're done working." He knocks again and turns to leave when he hears a curse, stumble, and a struggle to open the door.

Jess gets it – he does, when inspiration strikes and he doesn't want to be disturbed. Sometimes, he's able to shut the world out and indulge. But here's the thing – he has responsibilities that will always come before writing, because while it's a job, it's ultimately an indulgence. He stopped writing to help with the 'zine because half the staff had the flu in 2012 because the alternative was to miss deadlines and risk losing money. Jess ended up getting sick for two weeks and forgot what he was writing, which sucked, but eventually it worked out. He had to stop writing again because Matthew found out his grandma died and he needed to be driven to Florida because next day flight prices were astronomical and he couldn't function.

Jess learned at a young age how to put off what he wanted to do and prioritize doing what he needed to do, but that comes from caring for his drunk mother when she puked on the couch before she could make it to the bathroom. It comes from working under the table because he was too young and his mom couldn't make rent. It comes from a lot of ugly things that Doyle had only touched upon in articles for newspapers.

And Doyle is used to having a partner to help out. Now he's alone.

"What?" Doyle asks, sharp, outraged, in shock. He looks to Jess, to Gabriela, over at his son. "How?"

"Tim called me. He was worried. I'll take them, I'm on vacation; you can work. I'll bring them back tonight or tomorrow, okay?"

Doyle sputters. "But –"

"Either you stop working right now, or I'm leaving with them. Those are your options."

"…You told Paris already?"

"Well, when a seven-year-old calls you in distress, it's only natural to call his mom," Jess says with a bite.

"Shit," Doyle hisses.

"Take it up with her, she told me to take them. I'm just giving you the option."

"Gabriela…" her father says softly, reaching out to touch her, but before he can, she says loudly: "I wanna go with Uncle Jess!"

Jess blinks and gently pats her on the back.

"Fine, go. Take them." Doyle reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet.

"I'm good, thanks." Jess takes a step back and walks away. Gabriela holds him tighter, pressing her face harder into his shoulder.

"Do you and Gabriela need anything?" Jess asks Tim.

Tim promptly runs across the room to the stairs where there's a familiar bag. He puts it on his shoulder and stumbles over to Jess, who takes it before Lily rips it out of his grasp. "I got it, let's go."

"Keys are in my left front pocket – you drive," Jess says.

Valerie takes them out of his pocket and heads to the driver's side.

Jess sits in the back with the kids. "Is Daddy angry?" Gabriela asks.

"Who cares?" Tim snaps, angrier than Jess has seen or heard from him. His narrowed gaze reminds him so much of Paris it makes his chest hurt. 

"Okay, Tim, let's – don't talk like that to your sister. You're both upset. Which is…" he exhales. "It's understandable."

Jess glances forward at Lily and Valerie, but they seem to be doing their best to pretend they have privacy.

"Thank you for calling me. You did the right thing. While you're very mature for your age, you shouldn't be left alone or ignored like that," he tells Tim. "And I'm sure when you see your dad later, when he's done working, he's going to apologize profusely."

"What does pro-fuse-ly mean?" Tim asks, sounding out the world carefully. He's suddenly seven again. Jess exhales.

"It means 'a lot.'"

"Oh. Well, you have to apologize when you do something wrong."

Jess nods. Tim will learn that's not the case soon enough.

"When will Mommy be done with work?" Gabriela asks quietly.

"A little while longer –" Jess starts.

"But in the meantime, you have Valerie and me, and we're the coolest chicks in LA," Lily interrupts him, turning to beam at the kids.

"You said we can get ice cream," Gabriela says, almost a question.

He nods to Lily. "They know the best ice cream."

"Take them to Sweet Rose," Valerie suggests. "Then we can take them to the Pier. You've been to the Pier, right?"

They stare blankly. Jesus, what the fuck does Doyle do with his kids out here?

"McConnell's is good though," Lily counters.

"You're ignoring Salt and Straw," he adds to be annoying. "It's March – that Lucky Charms flavor is back."

Lily, Gabriela, and Tim all gasp.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't you have a cereal milk ice cream on your coast?"

"That's a soft serve. Way different. When you come to New York, we'll take you."

"They put cornflakes on it as a topping!" Tim adds.

"They do, it's the best part."

"I'm not going in the winter. I don't do winters," Valerie says.

"Come during summer break."

"I'll think about it."

Given that it's close enough to dinner time, they feed the kids dinner first before taking them to Salt and Straw. Lily takes a picture of them eating the Lucky Charms flavor – which is called 'Pots of Gold and Rainbows' and sends it to Jess, instructing him to send it to Paris.

"It'll make her happy," she tells him.

"Yeah, yeah."

Paris calls him at eight, telling him to get ready to come back to Doyle's house, but only after she tells him to – she wants to talk to him privately first.

"Is this going to be a murder?" Lily whispers.

"I wouldn't be surprised. Problem is, I don't know who's the guardian in case he's dead and Paris is in jail."

Lily's eyebrows rise and Jess refuses to react. He doesn't need to know things like that.

**

When they all arrive back at Doyle's house, Paris and Doyle are standing by the front door a good few feet apart from each other. He hugs both the children, he apologizes. Doyle comes bearing presents – a stuffed animal for Gabriela, a new set of colored pencils for Timóteo.

Jess thinks buying apologies to be an ugly thing.

Gabriela hugs the bear close to her, but Tim inspects his gift, opening the pack and running his fingers along the pointed ends. Jess recognizes that mask of indifference.

"I'm sorry about today, but thank you for taking care of my kids. I really appreciate it," Doyle says to Jess, holding out his hand.

Jess unwillingly takes it and doesn't say anything.

"Here," Lily says, reaching into her pocket and taking out a Dante's Inferno business card, her name and phone number scribbled on the back. "In case you need a babysitter the next time you're in LA. Just in case."

Valerie snorts, turning away to hide her amusement too late.

Jess hugs them goodbye. He pats Gabriela's stuffed animal on the head, which makes her smile. Without thinking, he brings a hand to her face, running a thumb along the apple of her cheek. "I'll see you back home, okay?"

Tim hugs him tightly. "Tell your mom what you're feeling. Don't keep it to yourself," Jess tells him quietly. "She can handle it."

Tim pulls back and looks at him in the eye. He's unsure.

"She can handle it," he repeats. "Trust me."

He nods. "Okay. Bye Uncle Jess."

"Bye, Tim."

When they get back in the car, Lily puts a hand on his shoulder. "You're really good with them."

"Thanks."

"Want to get drunk?"

"Yep."

They get the fuck out and get drunk.

**

Jess is not well until the afternoon and he's not exactly looking forward to Sugarfish for dinner. He'll probably have to stop by In-N-Out and get a real dinner afterwards.

They meet outside of the restaurant at seven. Paris comes armed with three bottles of liquor: Belvedere, Hendricks, Johnny Walker Blue.

"I didn't know what you drank, but thank you for watching my kids," Paris says, handing the bag to Lily and Valerie.

"You don't have to do that," Lily insists.

"Please let me do this, it'll make me feel better."

Lily blinks and takes the bag. "Okay. Thank you. This will help us get through the last few weeks of school," she half-jokes.

Jess was originally worried a little that Lily and Paris would clash. He knows Paris can't stand LA and things associated with it: cut-off jeans, flip-flops, over-contouring, and Lily is a product of LA – she has sand in her car all the time, she only has jeans with holes in them, and her hair is almost light-blonde in the summer due to constantly being outside, but she's never been vain and she fucking hates reality television.

So, they manage to find common ground.

"I didn't think anyone loved Russian literature more than Lily," Valerie says at one point while Lily and Paris are volleying back and forth on Dostoevsky versus Tolstoy.

(Jess isn't surprised that Paris prefers Dostoyevsky, especially when she brings up _Anna Karenina_ and Lev as an author avatar.)

"Her ancestors are turning in their graves," Jess mutters. "Read anything good lately?"

"Yeah, I just finished _Evicted_ , which is an in-depth look on poverty and the housing crisis and using Milwaukee as the focal point. It's amazingly well done."

"Lived through it, don't need to read it."

"Come on."

"I'm sure it's good, but –"

"I know, you prefer fiction since reading is a form of escapism. But you did read Springsteen's autobiography!"

"You know those are totally different."

"Whatever, still nonfiction."

"What's next?"

" _Weapons of Math Destruction_ – how algorithms and data are basically fucking us over with increasing inequality and misinformation."

"I know you're a math teacher, but do you ever want to read things that spark joy?"

"I didn't take you as a Marie Kondo fan."

"I became a fan when it inspired Chris to finally clean up his side of the office."

"For the record, Mariano, there's some Russian on my mother's side of the family," Paris says.

"The complicated result of ever-changing borders in Eastern Europe," Lily adds.

"How interested are you in nonfiction in terms of history?" Paris asks Valerie.

"It depends."

"So, you won't read anything that has to do with any war America was involved in."

"Not unless it's about people of color."

"Do you have a Goodreads account?" Lily asks Paris excitedly.

"I do. I love organizing it in my spare time."

They exchange accounts and Lily goes into another rant about how Jess should have one. Jess doesn't need a website or an app to keep track of everything he's ever read.

"Yeah, but it's not about _you_ , it's about _other people_ ," Lily sighs exasperatedly. "Besides, I want a hard number on how many books you've read."

There's a glint in Paris' eyes that Jess doesn't like.

"No," he tells her. "Besides, I'd definitely win. While you were reading textbooks and writing papers, chances are, I was reading."

"Like I'm going to take your word for it."

"I'm not going to spend hours searching for every book I ever read. I have important things to do."

"I'm going to make Matthew do it. He's got that obsessive spark in him. He'd love this project," Paris says thoughtfully.

"He doesn't know even half of the books I've read."

"I know, but it'll annoy the shit out of you eventually that you'll have to take over."

"For fuck's sake."

They all laugh at him and he finishes off the sake in retaliation.

At one point, Lily receives a text and her phone screen lights up at the table. Paris, not having the most tact while sober, has completely lost it somewhere in between appetizers and the meal; she tilts her head at an angle to see her phone.

"'If we ever stop talking, send me a song?" Paris questions, reading off the neon sign Lily has had as her lock screen for the last three years.

"It's just a reminder for myself," Lily explains. "Sometimes I get so wrapped up in work and everything and it seems like too much to have a conversation, I'll send a song to them to let them know I haven't forgotten them."

"That's actually cute," Paris admits.

"Can't tell you how many songs she sent me," Jess adds.

"Anything good?"

He turns to Lily, who smiles innocently. "She sent me a few songs by the Spice Girls."

"They have some bops."

"You've also sent Backstreet Boys."

"They're better than *NSYNC."

"Britney Spears."

"I thought you'd find 'Stronger' to be inspiring."

"The rap."

"That was me," Val says.

"In the beginning it was. I've sent quality things to him without your input," Lily argues.

They start arguing about their taste in hip hop and rap and how there needs to be a resurgence of R&B. Jess looks to Paris and she's watching them with a small smile on her face.

"I'd send that one rap song to a lot of people," Paris says thoughtfully. "The 'I don't fuck with you' one."

Val bursts out into a cackle.

**

Jess transports Ronnie out of the assisted living facility to the boardwalk, as promised. He's looking gaunt in the face, so he gets him a hotdog with everything, courtesy of Jimmy. His grandson is only annoyed for a minute before he's showing how well he's running the merry-go-round.

Ronnie and Jess watch as a new batch of kids and parents get on.

"I remember when you rode it after closing. You said you've never been on one before," Ronnie says after a few minutes of silence.

Jess nods. It was after closing and he couldn't stand being around Jimmy during a darker day. Ronnie offered him a free ride and insisted after Jess told him he hadn't ridden on one before. While Coney Island was a subway trip away, it was too expensive and Liz never wanted to take him.

"I think you let me go for a few rounds," Jess says with a fleeting smile.

"You were owed a few."

"I don't like thinking about what I was owed," Jess tells him.

"I know." Ronnie smiles. "But you've done well for yourself."

Jess doesn't know how to respond, so he remains silent.

"I just want you to meet someone nice."

"I'm sure it'll happen," Jess says to placate him.

Ronnie hums in agreement.

Jess watches a little girl with braids like Gabriela grin up at her mom, who smiles back. They both scrunch their noses in an identical way.

"I'm only telling you this because I think you can handle it more than everyone else and I'm tired of lying," Ronnie says. "But I can feel my body giving out. I don't think I'm going to make it another year."

Jess figured, but it still hurts to have it confirmed. He nods in understanding.

"Do you have an idea of how long?" Jess asks, more so out of curiosity.

"Who knows – modern medicine can extend life for a while, but…" Ronnie shrugs. "Couple of months, maybe."

"I can make another trip out here –"

"Ah no, that's not why I told you – live your life. Don't come back here on my account."

"You're not the only one here that I like, you know," Jess teases gently. 

"I know. I only told you because you can handle it. You've handled worse."

Jess sighs. "This is pretty bad, though."

Ronnie reaches over to Jess and pats his shoulder with a shaky hand. "I'm not worried about you. Never was."

Jess's throat closes. Ronnie said that to him on his last night in Venice Beach before his aimless traveling. He almost cried then too.

He focuses on two brothers who are trying to swing side to side on their horses. They end up bumping into each other and laughing.

"Do you want kids?"

Jess blinks. "Uh – not really. Between Jimmy walking out when I was a day old and probably needing to have been removed by CPS from my mother…I don't think it's best. Don't need to pass on questionable genes."

"I heard through the grapevine you were acting paternal with some children."

"Who is part of this grapevine and is her name Lily Kovács because I'll toss her onto the 101."

"I don't reveal my sources."

Jess rolls his eyes. "They're my friend's kids. They were visiting their dad and my friend had a work conference."

"I see. Divorced?"

"Yep."

"Interesting."

"Happens all the time."

"I heard you looked good with them."

"Actually, I'm going to drive her into the desert and leave her there."

Ronnie grins. "Well, for what it's worth, there are kids that could do with having someone like you in their lives."

Jess inhales sharply. "How am I going to get unnecessarily complimented without you around?"

"I'm sure you'll charm another sucker."

Jess laughs and when he drops Ronnie back off at the assisted living facility, he gets a little choked up. He never understood half the shit Liz believed in – the healing properties of quartz, that people carry different color auras – but he just knows as soon as he's hugging Ronnie goodbye that this is the last time he's seeing him.

He checks the time to confirm that Paris is done for the day before calling her.

" _Hi_ ," Paris says.

"Tell me I'm a fucking lunatic for getting _a feeling_ about something."

She sighs. " _I need context, which means that I'm also a fucking lunatic in my old age._ "

"Ronnie – guy who ran the merry-go-round – thinks he's not going to make it a year. I got a _feeling_ that I just saw him for the last time."

She's quiet for a few moments. " _Sorry, can't make fun of you for that. I felt the same way about Nanny. You okay?_ "

He grimaces. "Not really."

" _Well, closure isn't guaranteed, so be grateful you got to say goodbye._ "  
_  
_ He smiles a little at her bluntness. "Yeah. I am."  
_  
_ " _Plus, you can always talk on the phone – it's the twenty-first century. He's not dead yet._ "  
_  
_ He smiles wider. "That's true."  
_  
_ " _So, buck up. It's sad, but at least you're getting a process this time._ " There's a pause. " _Too cold?_ "

"Direct and sensible is what I was looking for, hence my calling you."

" _Good because I'm awful with grief. I missed Rory's grandpa's funeral because my flight got canceled, but I was secretly relieved about it. All that emotion? Can't do it._ "

"Your son cried when he sat on two colored pencils and you handled that well."

" _How else was I supposed to get him to stop?_ " He can hear the smile in her tone. " _Do you have plans in an hour? I'm just changing before grabbing dinner with Doyle and the kids. I would love to pregame._ "

He snorts. "I can come to your hotel and buy you a drink."

" _Wow, it's great having more than one friend._ "

Jess laughs so hard that he wheezes.

**

The next day when he wakes up, he sees a notification from his airline about an upgrade to first class coming home. And a text from Chris that reads, ' _don't look at me, it was Paris._  
He calls her immediately. "How the _fuck_ –"

" _Matthew! We're texting. It was technically booked by Truncheon_."

He brings a hand to his jaw. "You _really_ didn't have to –"

" _I wanted to._ "

"You don't need to buy my affection," he says sharply.

Silence. He feels a twinge of guilt.

" _Buying affection is my mom buying me a Chanel wallet on chain when I was thirteen and then her asking me to snoop in my dad's office for evidence of an affair,_ " Paris says flatly. " _Buying affection is my dad buying me a BMW after telling me in a drunken stupor that I'd never find a guy to marry with the way that I am. Buying affection is Doyle not using words to explain why he was in the wrong a few days ago and thought covering it up with gifts would smooth it away._ " Paris exhales angrily. He can imagine her rubbing her temple. " _I've always had money. I'm as privileged as it gets, besides being Jewish and a woman. And I hope to continue to have money until I'm dead and buried and my kids get what's left after the estate tax_."

It's odd that he knows a person that genuinely has to consider the changing limit of the estate tax. That will be one benefit to her in the Trump administration: no doubt that limit will at least double.

" _You just thought about Trump upping that limit didn't you._ "

He blinks. "Yes. It's a plus for you."

" _And a minus for everyone else. Focus._ "

"Sorry. Continue."

" _My point is: it's terrible of me to say, but money isn't as valuable to me as it is to a lot of people in the sense that I have more than enough to live comfortably and then some. What the money can afford me though, that's what I like. I like spending my excess money to make other people I love happy. I'm obsessed with the thought of buying Timóteo a three-hundred-dollar paint set for Christmas if he's still into art by then because I can just imagine his eyes lighting up. I bought Gabriela a stunning and stupidly expensive dress for her mermaid-inspired birthday party that I know she's going to love and she'll hopefully look back and remember it well. Better than any party I had as a kid._ "

"Okay," Jess says slowly. "And why upgrade my plane ticket?"

" _You've never experienced the luxury of first-class and thought you should. Get comped drinks, write, stretch your legs. I know you'd never spend it on yourself. It's a lot of money._ "

He breathes in slowly and exhales slowly.

" _If you're uncomfortable because I make more money than you –_ "

"It's not that, believe me. It's just." He could really go for a cigarette. "I'm not used to it, I guess," he admits awkwardly.

" _There aren't strings attached_."

"I'm getting that."

" _I'm not keeping score_."

"How can you not?" he finds himself asking, even though he had just said it to her days before. 

" _Because there are different ways of expressing love – you know, the love languages._ "

He grimaces. "Love languages?"

" _It's pseudoscience bullshit, courtesy of the equally bullshit couples counseling prior to the divorce, but is surprisingly a little valid. There are five ways people express love and feel loved: words, acts of service, receiving gifts, quality time, and physical touch. I tend to go with gifts_. _Just showing that I think of you and care for you and all this nonsense._ "

He bites his bottom lip. "Talking about my feelings is a constant work in progress since I spent the first twenty years of my life emotionally constipated, but. Otherwise, I don't think our friendship is…imbalanced, or whatever."

" _So, I'm not failing?_ "

"Jesus, are you permanently stuck in school mode?"

" _Most of my life was spent in school rather than out of it and it will be that way for the foreseeable future._ "

"Fine. You're not _failing_ , whatever the fuck that means. You're great. Seriously. My life would be dull without you."

" _I don't remove all the dullness in your life? God._ "

Jess smiles. "I've realized I never wanted too much excitement anyway."

" _I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like_ Pretty Woman."

"Seriously?" He shakes his head. "It's okay. Thanks for explaining it to me. Obviously, I'm not familiar with excess money. But for the record?"

" _Yeah?_ "

"I wouldn't get him a paint set. I think he prefers the pencils. Greater control."

" _It would be an oil painting set – it's not like watercolor, I know he'd hate that._ "

"I can test the waters before you buy it. I can get him a cheap one or something. Don't blow your load too early –"

" _I fucking loathe that expression, but fine_."

"When's his birthday?"

" _October. Gabriela's is in April, which, you're invited._ "

"To the mermaid-themed party?"

" _Yep, and if you make a face, you'll be pushed into oncoming traffic._ "

"No faces in front of her, I promise."

" _Good._ "

He grimaces a little. "What do I get her for her birthday?"

" _You did so well for Hanukkah! Scared you'll fall short?_ " she asks in that ridiculous competitive tone that makes him laugh.

"Yes, you jerk."

" _Well, you'll spend a weekend with her in Philly. Maybe you'll be inspired. Worst case, I'll send you some things I know she wants or would like._ "

"Thank you." He stands up. "Thank you for the upgrade. I appreciate it."

" _You're welcome! I'll see you in Philly._ "

"Talk to you later."

He hangs up and stares at his phone for a moment.

"Is this what being an adult is like?" he asks out loud to himself.

Ugh. Fucking hell.

**

He really enjoys first class so much that when he lands, he leaves Paris a message essentially telling her to go fuck herself because flying coach is going to be even more torturous from now on.

Paris sends him a voice text and it's just her cackling.

**

A few days after settling back in the swing of things, Jess gets a text from Paris and it's just the song "Changes" by David Bowie. He snorts and plays the song - and the rest of the album - as he continues writing. 


	2. spring: blue skies are coming (but I know that it's hard)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Standard disclaimers apply. Lyrics are accredited within the fic. Chapter title is from "Blue Skies" by Noah and the Whale.

Paris likes to put up each season's months on the wall of her home office so she has an idea of what the hell she's getting into. She used to have a social calendar and a work calendar, but she quickly realized that they end up blending anyway, especially during the holidays with work functions.

So now she has big calendars to write in events like her children's birthdays, her coworkers' birthdays, client functions, events –

" _FUCK_ ," Paris yells when she looks through her phone calendar for May and realizes her egregious error. "I fucked up. I fucked up."

Paris doesn't know _why_ she agreed to go to Lucy's stupid fucking wedding in the Brooklyn Botanical Garden – oh, maybe _that_ had something to do with it – but the worst part is this: she definitely got a plus one and didn't decline. Did she temporarily lose her mind? Was she drunk?

She calls Jess in a panic.

" _Don't you have work?_ '

"I always take the first day of the new season off to update my calendars," she explains hastily as she searches through her desk for the invitation to confirm the date and time.

"… _Right, I'm sorry, I should've realized that. My mistake._ "

Paris rolls her eyes. After a second, she finds the invitation and of course, she wrote the information down correctly. "What are you doing on Saturday, May twentieth?"

" _Why?_ " he asks, suspicious.

"Just answer the question."

" _Hold on…uh…nothing. May I ask why_ now _?_ "

"Here's the thing," Paris starts slowly, wincing. "I got invited to this wedding."

" _You're kidding._ "

"I fucked up,” she groans as she begins to pace around her office. “I got a plus one for it because she probably thought I was still married and I don't know if I was trying some ridiculous means of putting things into the universe and hoping I'd have a date for it, or if I went absolutely crazy when I sent the response, but. Please be my date for it. It's at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden – "

" _Damn, that's nice._ "

"I know. She was a damn _drama_ major at Yale – she's engaged to some art gallerist like she's some Hollywood starlet."

" _A friend from Yale?_ "

She winces again. "Well, not really my friend, more Rory's."

He's quiet for a moment. " _Is Rory going? Why don't you just go with her?”_ It’s more curious than anything.

"I don't even know if Rory's going – she's due in May, so she may not want to leave the house yet. And in that case, I don't want to be alone with these people."

" _Fake something,”_ Jess suggests. “ _Besides, isn't the benefit of having young children is that they contract illnesses all of the time? Claim one of them got a stomach bug._ "

"I stopped doing that because I swear every time I do, my kids get sick. This is the only instance in which I believe that karma is real."

He laughs a little. " _Okay, you can always decline – it's two months out – I'm sure she has a shortlist of people in the case that people drop out_."

"But then they'll think I'm miserable and embarrassed to go without my husband."

Jess snorts. " _Please. I doubt that._ "

She grits her teeth. "I also don't want to do anything stupid, like, take one of those people home."

" _Seriously?_ "

"Me, single, alone, drinking free alcohol at a wedding? I know I'm going to have to go through the hurdle of dating eventually, but I don't need to stoop this low."

" _One night stands not your thing?_ "

"I've never had one. And I think I missed the boat," Paris admits.

" _Well, it's never too late._ "

She rolls her eyes. "Speaking like a true man."

" _Look, I get it. There are inherit risks to sex for women that don't exist for men._ "

"You're goddamn right – do you know how many men carry HPV and don't even know it? It's fucking horrifying. Silent killer. It's the biggest issue I see at the clinic. Most women I know already have it. I'll be damned if I contract it from a one-night stand."

" _Relax, you don't have to have a one-night stand._ "

"I will if I go alone. I miss sex," she blurts out before bring a hand to her forehead. She's gotten better at having a filter, but sometimes she just can't help herself. "Sorry. Overshare."

To Jess’ credit, he doesn't react in the way she expects from people who don't know the full scope of her craziness. " _It's okay. Probably not the right friend to share that with though._ "

"Maybe I'll commiserate with Rory next time."

" _What?_ "

"Fun fact, Mariano: last trimester of pregnancy, when the baby isn't bruising your ribs and making you lose valuable sleep, your libido goes through the roof."

" _Oh, geez._ "

"It's true. I still think it was the best sex I ever had, and it was primarily due to the increased blood flow to the pelvic region."

" _Paris. Not the right friend. Please. I'm begging you._ " He sounds pained.

She scoffs. "Grow up. This is adulthood."

" _I don't need to think about you and Doyle, whom I kind of hate, since you deserve better._ "

Paris blinks a few times. "Really?"

" _Yeah. I know that he contributed to the DNA of your children, whom I care for very dearly, but I don't need to think about the reality of how that happened._ "

She chews on her bottom lip for a moment. "Fair enough. Sorry. But what I said it's true. It's rough though since men are fucked and find it _freaky_ when your stomach moves when –"

" _Got it,”_ Jess interrupts. _“Be open and appreciate nature's miracles and the fact that a woman consents to having sex with you, regardless of the physical state of her body_." 

"You got it."

" _Well, this has been a stellar conversation –_ "

"You didn't agree yet to go with me to this wedding."

He sighs deeply. " _Brooklyn Botanical Garden?_ "

"Yes. Open bar and there should be decent food. My place, private gym –"

Jess snorts again. " _You owe me_."

"I will _definitely_ owe you."

" _Fine. I'll go and be your cockblock._ "

"Now you're talking." She exhales in relief. "Thank you, seriously."

" _Can't risk getting HPV._ "

"Silent. Killer."

" _Goodbye, Paris._ "

"Bye."

Paris exhales in relief until she realizes that she'll probably have to go and buy a new dress for the occasion. " _Shit._ "

**

Ever since she and Doyle separated, Paris knew she had to adjust her schedule so she'd be home more often, especially with his getting a place in LA. Most of the time she likes it – spending more time with her children during the week, helping them with their homework surprisingly inspires a lot more patience than she thought herself capable of. But other times…

Paris glances at her watch while one of the women she's interviewing to be a new surrogate is telling a long-winded story about how it's a tradition in her family to be a surrogate for people who can't have children. Her family, apparently, only did it for friends and family, but she has loans and she'd rather have a story about carrying a celebrity's baby.

Valid reasons. Plus, Paris can see how it's a tradition in the intergenerational photos the woman brought to the interview – all the women seem to be blessed with identical, perfect child-bearing hips. 

Some clients will adore this shit. So, Paris explains healthcare coverage, NDAs – in the case that she's chosen by a celebrity – and informs her that HR will contact her tomorrow morning to provide more details about onboarding.

Once the candidate is out of her office, Paris calls Clementina and asks her if she can extend her hours for tonight, that she won't be home until after dinner. 

Clementina, being the angel that she is, says it's not a problem.

Paris focuses on getting a few reports in when her cell phone rings with an incoming call from Rory.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

" _Nothing's wrong! Did I catch you at a bad time – I thought you'd be out of work._ "

"Nope, late night."

" _Sorry, you can call me when you're available?_ "

"I can multitask for you. How are things? You had a doctor's appointment a couple of days ago, right?" Paris asks and she adds a formula to an Excel spreadsheet. 

" _Yeah, baby's doing well._ "

"Still don't want to know about the sex?"

" _Nope. Although there's a running bet going in Stars Hollow. Overwhelming majority that it's a girl, but there are few contrarians here. Do you want in?_ "

For someone who wanted to go out and experience the world, Paris always found it confusing how much comfort Rory got from her hometown and staying there for the foreseeable future. 

Paris finishes adding in a row of numbers. "I love being a contrarian, but I think it's a girl too. Sorry."

" _I hope it's a girl. I don't know the first thing about boys,_ " Rory admits.

"Well, it's a good thing you have me."

" _Yeah, that's true._ ” Ror laughs a little.“ _You were so sure you were having a girl the first time._ "

Paris smiles and shakes her head as she adds in another formula. "Yep, and I was so sure I was having a boy the second time."

" _God, so maybe I am having a boy if you keep getting your guesses wrong._ "

Paris rolls her eyes. "Relax. Regardless, you'll be a great mom. You know what to do."

" _I do?_ "

"I'd say you have one of the best role models you can have."

" _I know, I'm just so nervous._ "

"Good, you should be. It's life changing and serious."

" _Great, thanks_.” The sarcasm drips.

"But it's also going to be rewarding and fun."

Paris hears Rory inhale shakily. " _I'm scared to bring a child into the world now._ "

"It's a bad time," Paris agrees. "But there's rarely a good time. We were born in the middle of the Reagan administration, for God's sake."

Rory laughs a little. " _Yeah_." She sighs. " _Are you sure I'm not distracting you from work?_ "

"It's fine, it's keeping me focused." Paris types a few more things. "Actually, question."

" _Sure._ "

"You RSVP'd to Lucy's wedding in May, right?"

There's silence, so Rory absolutely forgot. " _Crap!_ " Paris hears some shuffling, the sound of pages turning in Rory's notebook. " _Shit!_ "

"I love it when you curse," Paris says happily.

" _I'm going to be due around then! I'm going to have to back out, right?_ "

"When's your due date?"

" _May tenth._ "

Paris winces. "I don't know if you'll be wanting to leave the house ten days after giving birth."

Rory groans. " _I'll have to give her a call. Thanks for the reminder._ "

"No problem."

" _Ugh, I forgot it was at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden too!_ "

"Only reason I'm going. Also, her fiancé is rich, so an open bar, good food. This is what I live for now."

Rory laughs. " _You're still going to go?_ " she asks.

"I have to take advantage of local weddings. The last three I got dragged to involved my getting on a plane."

" _Do you have a date? Have you been dating?_ "

Paris’ right eyebrow twitches involuntarily. She rubs it aggressively. "I have not been dating. Need to get on that. But I do have a date. I strong-armed Mariano."

There’s an awkward beat of silence. " _Oh. Wow. And he caved?_ "

Even after all these years, sometimes Paris can't really pinpoint how Rory is feeling. "Yeah, well. Free private gym. And I think he loves my kids, but he's not ready to admit that yet."

" _Well, they are very cute and well behaved._ "

"I trained them well."

" _Not the word I'd use to describe parenting._ "

Paris ignores that jibe.

" _So…how is that going? You seem to be getting along better than I could've imagined._ "

Paris stops rubbing her face. "It's good – you know me. I can't find someone I can stand for more than five minutes. When I come to Stars Hollow in a few weeks I have to tell you about what happened in LA. Fucking shit show."

" _Really? What did Doyle do?_ "

"Treat my children like pets. I told him the next time he pulls something like this, I'm demanding full custody."

" _Geez. Well…can't wait to hear that?_ "

Paris opens her mouth to tell Rory that Doyle isn't something to fraternize with anymore, but she stops herself short. It should be the obvious thing for Rory to do, but Paris doesn’t want to get into a potential argument in the case that _isn’t_ obvious. "I need to finish this report so I can at least see my children while they're awake. I'll text you," Paris says instead.

" _Okay, give them a kiss for me._ "

"Done. Bye."

Paris hangs up and exhales sharply. "It's fine," she says out loud, as if that'll right everything in the universe. Which, she needs to fucking stop _doing_ that – it's so not her MO.

**

April is a busy month – the first weekend of the month, Paris will be in Philly with the kids being shown around by Jess. She's been there a few times for conferences, but never had the time to see much. Although she did make time to see the Liberty Bell the first trip.

The following weekend is Gabriela's sixth birthday party, which Doyle will be in the city for a good two weeks to make Paris’ life miserable. And then there's Rory's baby shower. And then one of Paris’ acquaintances from medical school will be in town.

Being this social plus being so busy with clients – April is the start of when Paris’ surrogates start giving birth and don't stop until October – already exhausts her deeply.

She's in her bed, responding to emails when she gets one from Jess with the subject line "Restaurants."

_Here are some restaurants I can make dinner reservations for. Let me know what you like and I can book them. Or you can book them, I don't care, as long as you consult a map when you do it. But I have to say Zahav is a must – it's really that good._

He lists a few restaurants with links to their menus.

She immediately replies:

_Of course I'd consult a map. Who do you think I am?_

__She searches through some of the restaurants and consults her plan of action: Old City on day one with seeing the Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell, Betsy Ross' House, Reading Terminal Market, and day two being in Fairmount, attending the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Rodin Museum.

He responds: _have you talked to your friend Rory about her visit here? This is a map of what she wanted to do while she was in town for her job 10 years ago:_

And at the bottom there's a map of points in which jump from the center of the city, to the southwest corner, then all the way to the northeast corner, then somewhere in the south again, then back in the middle –

She responds: _Jesus, was sleeping on a bus really fucking with her? Here are the ones I want to go to – note the dates and times. You can have the honors of booking, Oh Great Host._

Her computer chimes with a text from Jess.

From Jess Mariano:  
_Now you're mocking my efforts to be a good host?_

__From Paris Geller:  
_It's cute, I like it. It's nice to defer sometimes. Only sometimes._

From Jess Mariano:  
_You are very type A._

__From Paris Geller:  
_I am, but the attempt to share planning responsibility is appreciated. And will sometimes be accepted. Be honored._

__From Jess Mariano:  
_Jess Mariano: Honored Great Host._

From Paris Geller:  
_Haha. I have to finish some emails – I'll see you Friday.  
_  
From Jess Mariano:  
_Have a good night._

She likes his text and goes back to work.

**

Paris has planned it so she picks up Timóteo and Gabriela from school an hour early, they go straight to Penn Station and take Amtrak for a quick hour and ten-minute ride (thank you, Acela) to 30th Street Station, from where Jess said he would pick them up.

But given that he hasn't responded to Paris' updates via text, she figures he's swamped at work and plans on getting an Uber to the hotel and then dragging him out of Truncheon by his leather jacket.

Of course, when Matthew texts Paris, her hunch is proven right:

From Matthew Steinman:  
_Jess wanted me to text you to say that he's doing "damage control" and can't pick you up._

__From Matthew Steinman:  
_I'm saying to come at exactly 5 and drag him out by his hair. Take no shit._

From Paris Geller:  
_Figured. Thanks for letting me know._

From Matthew Steinman:  
_Throwing it out there – can we feature your beautiful children on our Instagram? We can cover their faces with open books!_

From Paris Geller:  
_You only have a couple thousand followers – you can feature their profiles._

Matthew sends a gif of one of the actors from _Entourage_ screaming his catchphrase "VICTORY!"

From Paris Geller:  
_I'm going to revoke that if Entourage is one of your favorite shows._

From Matthew Steinman:  
_My older brother's favorite show since he's a pig. I was exposed to a lot of garbage. But then again, I sometimes felt for Johnny "Drama" Chase for being the hated child._

From Paris Geller:  
_If you need help finding a therapist, let me know._

From Matthew Steinman:  
_Internalize that shit and SUFFER like a real Jew!_

__Paris bursts out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Tim asks.

"Uncle Jess' friend from work, Matthew. We're going to see him and Chris today since we have to save Uncle Jess from work."

Gabriela looks up from the coloring book she's working on to gasp. "We get to see where Uncle Jess works?!"

"You're both integral to saving him."

Tim's face breaks into a scary smile, which Paris fucking adores.

**

When they arrive, Paris orders an Uber to take them to the Rittenhouse Hotel. When talking to Gabriela's classmates' parents about this upcoming trip, they questioned why Paris wouldn't stay at the Ritz, but she likes smaller hotels that are unique to the area she's staying in as she's gotten older. She sees it as a sign of maturity.

(Besides, the Rittenhouse is more child friendly.)

They freshen up for twenty minutes. Gabriela wants to change out of her school uniform into a dress because she wants to look nice. Timóteo would wear his school uniform everyday if given the opportunity, but he doesn't want to be left out, so he changes too. 

Paris debates on putting on a bolder lipstick color, but decides to reapply her sensible nude one before stepping out.

Gabriela and Tim are excited in the back of the Uber and Paris herself is curious to see where Jess works. She follows Truncheon on Instagram and she does get their newsletter, so she's seen pictures of the interior, but it's definitely not that clean on a daily basis if the majority of the owners are men.

Paris' timing is impeccable and Tim pushes the buzzer to be let in.

A girl with lavender hair and orange lipstick opens the door to let them in. "Hi! I'm Alicia – the sculptor, not the lawyer."

"Thank you for the clarification," Paris says, trying to hold back her sarcasm as her kids run past Alicia. " _Walk not run_ ," Paris yells after them. "Sorry," she says in a normal volume. "They're excited. I'm Paris."

"Nice to meet you!"

Alicia looks at Paris as she leads her through the hallway. "You really are super professional."

"Thank you." Paris stares at Alicia’s piercings in her ears and her nose. "I got a nose piercing once."

Alicia's eyes light up. " _Really?_ "

"It got infected. I still have a scar." Paris leans forward and points to her nostril.

Alicia winces as she peers closer. "Oh yeah. Did you get it at the mall or something?"

"Unfortunately. After that, I just stuck with the regular piercings. Although I've toyed with the idea of the second piercing during an occasional drunken outing."

"Well, if you ever want to go for it, let me know. I can do it myself. And trust me, I'm obsessive when it comes to sterilization. Cleaning in general. Which is why I'm here besides dropping off my latest project."

Paris raises an eyebrow. "You _clean_ for them?"

"I charge and it's for my mental health, it's not out of the goodness of my heart."

Alicia leads her into the main work space, which is definitely crowded with desks and there are a bunch of stacked papers, but Paris can see the effort that's been made to cleanse the chaos. "In the case there's ever a true emergency, I'll lend you Clementina – she'll be fully compensated by me, but just know you can have backup in the case of the truly horrendous."

Alicia perks up. "And to think I thought all corporate folk were assholes."

"Oh, trust me, you don't get to be where I am without being one."

"Paris!" Matthew exclaims, popping up from behind a large stack of papers, headphones hanging off his neck. "You're here!" He looks around. "Where are your kids?"

On cue, Gabriela squeals and Jess comes out of another room holding both children under each arm, looking a little frazzled. "Hi, Paris." 

"I was told to take you out by your hair."

Jess shoots Matthew a glare. "The treatment I get for saving the day. Despicable." He gently puts Paris' kids down on their feet. "How was school today?"

Paris has already heard about their days extensively on the train, so she tunes them out and focuses on the workspace. 

Her fingers itch to change the entire layout and she's already tempted to call Clementina to work her magic, but they've been functioning for over ten years at this point during the death of print, so Paris refrains. 

Chris comes over to her during her inspection and says, "This isn't our best."

"Oh, I know."

"Do you hate us a little?"

"A little."

Chris nods to Alicia. "Thanks for getting the door."

"No problem. I can come by tomorrow and finish if one of you can let me in."

"Yeah, I'll be in."

"I think a meal is in order for her while you're at it," Paris adds.

Alicia beams widely.

"Jess, get her out of here," Chris says to Jess.

"No, I like her. How did you find her, Jess?" Alicia whines.

"In Connecticut." Jess turns to Paris. "Let me just grab my jacket. I'll be down in a minute."

"I want to see your living space," Paris announces.

"Me too!" her kids chant at the same time.

Jess sighs, but doesn't stop them from following him up the stairs.

His room is at the end of the hallway and it has two locks.

"In my apartment off Yale's campus, I had six," Paris tells him.

"Excessive, but you were a sheltered girl from West Hartford," he laughs, opening the door. 

Paris nods in approval as she looks around Jess' bedroom. It's neat, the bed is made, and there are only a few things out on his desk and the back of his chair.

"I'm surprised you don't have piles of books all over the floor," she says after a few moments.

He wordlessly gestures to the floor to ceiling wall unit of shelves where there are dozens of books stuffed. Her kids are already scanning the shelves for books they might recognize. "That was my life prior to Alicia making this for me."

"Really? Alicia downstairs?"

"No, Alicia the lawyer. She has three brothers all of whom are involved in construction in some capacity, one of whom is a carpenter."

"You are surrounded by very interesting people, Mariano."

He gives her a pointed look and smiles.

"Creative," she amends.

"I've seen you curse out people; you can be creative."

She shrugs and smiles. "Kids, go downstairs and wait with Matthew, Chris, and Alicia. Uncle Jess and I will be downstairs in a minute."

"You have a lot of books," Gabriela tells Jess.

"Mom, you have some of them!" Tim adds.

"I'm not surprised," Jess says. "Go on, we'll catch up. Careful going down – use the rail."

Paris smiles as they leave the room and then at him, fondly. "Masterful."

Jess shrugs, his discomfort obvious, so she presses forward. "So, I know you appreciate your own living space, but you're more than welcome to stay with us. I have a king bed, so there's plenty of room, or I can get a roll out, and it's in a suite, so there's a lot of space in general, plus…private hotel gym."

"You really don't have to –" he starts, still a little uncomfortable. 

"I know I don't have to,” she interrupts him. “Besides, you're basically our tour guide for the weekend. You might as well get something out of it." She smiles like she would after finishing a pitch.

"The state-of-the-art gym?"

She grins. "See? You want it."

He bites his bottom lip, stares off for a little. "Okay, but I'm paying for dinner."

"Done. The kids will be thrilled."

"Give me a few minutes to gather my things." 

"Wait.” She looks around the room until she spots his closet. “I want to inspect your closet."

"Why?"

"I just want to see what you have." She opens his closet and begins to inspect. Frankly, she's surprised he takes the time to hang up clothes; he seems more like a dresser drawer person.

"I've seen you enough times, you have a general idea of my wardrobe," he says amusedly.

"Yeah, but you know how everyone has a couple of items that are randomly in there that you think you'll wear and then you never do. Well, maybe I can convince you."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "I don't have anything like that in my wardrobe."

"You're lying and I'm going to prove it."

Paris does, in fact, find a pink button-up shirt that she cannot imagine him wearing in a million years.

"It was from Lily and I forgot to return it, so I'm stuck with it," Jess sighs.

"So, you _do_ have something. When are you going to wear it?" She pulls it out of the closet to get a better look at it.

"Never. It doesn't fit."

She looks away from the shirt and at Jess. "What?" 

"She gave it to me a couple of years ago. It won't fit."

Paris holds it up to him. "Oh. You're right." She pulls back the shirt and feels it in between her fingers. "I'll take it then. I forgot pajamas."

He snorts. "Be my guest."

She packs the shirt into Jess' bag and heads back downstairs. When Jess comes back into the view with a bag, Tim immediately asks him why he has a bag with him. Jess explaining that he's staying with them raises eyebrows, but the kids' excitement overrules.

"You got him with the gym, didn't you," Chris mutters by Paris.

"You bet."

"Good, he needs a break anyway."

"Call me if you need me," Jess tells them while they're leaving.

"No, shan't!" Matthew says happily.

Jess rolls his eyes and shuts the door behind him.

He drives them to the hotel and Paris nearly laughs at Jess' expression when he realizes that it's valet parking only.

"You'll be okay," she tells him while he's holding the card with the number 16 on it. 

"I don't like this," he mutters.

"You'll like the inside, come on."

He does, judging by his low whistle as he walks through the space. "This is how the other half lives."

"It's spectacular."

"I will not complain."

Tim asks where Jess is going to sleep and Paris says that her bed is big enough to share – no need to get a roller bed and waste washing extra sheets. It's very bad for the environment. Tim finds it to be an acceptable answer. 

Besides, it's a great lesson to learn young, right? That everyone can be friends, even this heterosexual-obsessed world.

**

Paris is perusing the menu and she's finding the drink names to be amusing. "What are you drinking?" she asks Jess. "The Paradise Lost? You seem like a sucker for a cocktail named after literature."

Jess snorts as he reads the menu. "I would choose that or the Marble Rye, but I'll stick with beer."

"Really?"

He glances briefly at the kids. "I don't want to be…" he trails off.

She furrows her brow. "Is this a today thing, or a personal thing?"

He blinks. "Personal."

"Okay. Well, this Z&T is calling to me. Remind me – do you like white or did I just force you to drink it? We can split a bottle."

He flips the drink menu until he gets to the wine options. "Yeah, I can do white. Dry though."

"You don't want a nice bottle of Moscato?"

He grimaces. "Unless you want me to vomit."

Paris hums in thought. "I want to have a wine from Israel or Palestine – we'll ask."

He smiles at Paris. 

"Mom?"

Paris turns to Gabriela. "Yes, Gabriela?"

Gabriela looks upset. "Do they really have duck hearts?"

"It's not real duck hearts," Paris lies. "Sometimes chefs name things even if they don't make sense. We won't get that though."

Jess looks at her with a confused expression. "Really?" he mouths.

"No other option!" she mouths back. "I think hummus would be great to start. Turkish and maybe the daily topping?"

Gabriela will eat anything with mushrooms, so Paris orders that main course for her and the hanger steak for Tim. Jess gets the lamb and Paris gets the eggplant. 

Paris commends Jess for his insistence on the restaurant and tells him he can take Tim and Gabriela's leftovers since they'll never finish. Jess expresses surprise at one point that her kids can eat this, to which Paris informs him that when she was growing up, when her parents weren't around, her nanny would feed her Portuguese food, adding spices and flavor that her parents didn't appreciate. She wanted to make sure that her kids weren't picky eaters.

"Let's be honest – unless you're going to die from an allergy, you shouldn't be a picky eater. It makes you totally incorrigible," Paris scoffs.

He grins and shakes his head, his cheeks a little pink.

Jess recommends on the sly to get dessert out of the restaurant. It takes her by surprise that he has an almost inside joke with her kids about specialty ice cream places; he may have had a shit childhood, but he takes care in making sure the illusion isn't shattered with her children.

They go to a place that's naturally named after Benjamin Franklin. Jess gets a scoop of teaberry gum for the kids to try since it's apparently a Pennsylvania thing, which the kids aren’t thrilled about since it’s not actually a berry flavor - it’s more like spearmint. Paris kind of likes it, so she splits her vanilla ice cream with Jess so she can steal some of that.

By the time they call an Uber back to the hotel, the kids are nodding off in the backseat. Jess offers to carry Tim, who is now too big for Paris to really carry far, but he seems to want to seem older than he is, so Tim walks slowly through the hotel with his hand in Jess' while Jess carries Gabriela in his other arm.

Paris, who is a little tipsy, really likes this.

When they get the kids to bed, Jess has broken into the mini fridge and taken out a lager, pulling out his wallet to give her cash for it.

"Do not insult me with that shit. Just grab me one," she says after shutting the door dividing the living space where the kids are sleeping and her bedroom.

He snorts and does as she demands.

They channel surf and while she likes _90 Day Fiancé_ as her extreme guilty pleasure, he can't stand it, so they end up on Food Network. She's very much one of those people who will happily eat microwavable food and critique people's cooking despite her very basic skills. It's much more enjoyable watching it with Jess, who actually knows what he's talking about.

"Is this guy out of his fucking mind?" Jess questions, taking a pull from his beer. "He can't have all that in the pan – he's not going to get that caramelization – it's just going to be disgusting mush because all that food is trapping heat."

"I feel like if I had a talent for cooking, it would be my goal to make sure I'm _Chopped_ ready," Paris says. "These guys are amateurs for not preparing to work until such a tight time constraint."

"You'd definitely be the chef that would hide spices from the other contestants."

She laughs. "Correct. And you'd put it back in the wrong place to fuck with people."

"Correct." He suddenly smiles. "Your kids would help on _Chopped Junior_."

"Gabriela would. Tim would be picky on who to help. He'd definitely help out one kid and screw over another."

Jess nods toward the door. "Are they talking to their dad?"

Paris nods. "Yeah. Tim finally agreed to talk to him a couple of days ago." She sighs. "He's just like me. One infraction and you're cut off. Doesn't matter who you are. Stupid self-preservation instinct."

"It's his way of gaining control," he explains. "What Doyle did made him feel abandoned and it hurt. So, his icing him out was his way of preventing that from happening again."

Her eyebrows jump in surprise. "I thought you dropped out of high school – what's this Psych 101?"

"It's personal experience."

She bites the inside of her cheek as she stares at him. His gaze is steady, honest. "I don't want them to experience the shit we did. Or have our issues."

"Can't protect them forever. Besides, nothing's perfect. You're mitigating a lot of potential damage Doyle can inflict when he's being a narcissist."

"I want to fucking punch him," she almost growls.

"You can next week – he's coming, right?"

"Yeah, for two weeks. Kill me."

"Is it still okay if I come to Gabriela's party? If –"

"Oh, no.” she interrupts. “You're not missing that party because _he'll_ be uncomfortable. My daughter wants you there, so you're going to be there." She pokes him in the chest for good measure.

Jess holds his free hand up in surrender. "Okay. Just checking."

"Besides, you're going to be the highlight of the moms. It'll be great. Make sure you wear something nice."

He raises his eyebrows. "Isn't it a Paint and Sip?"

"It's with acrylics, it's fine," Paris waves dismissively.

He rolls his eyes. "Alright, I'm gonna brush my teeth. What time did you want to go to the gym? Seven?"

"A little after. If you go after me, we can be out of here by ten?"

"That works." He finishes off the rest of his beer and rolls off the bed, carefully placing the bottle in the trash bin before heading toward the bathroom.

Her buzz is mostly gone by the time they're both settled in bed, the lights off. She's had to force herself to get used to sleeping alone this past year, so it's jarring to have someone beside her, even in a king-size bed.

"You're weirded out," Jess concludes after a minute of awkward silence.

"I didn't think I would be," Paris admits. "Sorry. It's not you."

"It's okay. I don't share at all."

"I hope you don't sprawl."

"I only take part of the bed, promise. Just try to keep some distance from me."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means you've been sleeping in a queen since you were twelve – you definitely take up space."

She grins. "I've gotten better over the years."

"We'll see. G'night, Paris."

"Night, Jess."

**

Paris, thankfully, doesn't move much in her sleep and neither does Jess. She wakes up to find that Jess is still out – his hair spread over his pillow in a messy halo. He looks softer. She forces herself to look away to search through her suitcase for her workout clothes and sneakers, having an awkward moment where she almost changes in the room. She shuts the bathroom door as softly as she can, wincing at her reflection when she catches how her hair sticks up in the back.

When she gets out of the bathroom, Jess is sitting up and running a hand through his hair, scrolling through his phone.

"Hey, sorry if I woke you," Paris says.

"It's fine. I wanted to get a little writing in. Sleep well?" He glances up and Paris has a weird moment of thinking, _oh, he’s cute_.

She swallows. "Yeah, you?"

"Yep."

"Great. I'll see you in an hour."

He smiles and shakes his head, focusing back on his phone.

She cracks open the bedroom door and her children are still sleeping – they must be tired after all the excitement from the night before. She suddenly remembers that she ordered room service for the morning and shoots Jess a text reminding him to let the staff in at eight.

He sends her four thumbs up emojis and she rolls her eyes.

**

While cooling down, she opens the _New York Times_ app and after some browsing, she finds a short article detailing the recent wedding of Logan Huntzberger and Odette Bellerose.

They look very Aryan and she wishes them the very fucking best.

She sends the article to Jess.

From Jess Mariano:  
_They will beautifully expand the Aryan race._

Paris snorts and attracts everyone else on the treadmills.

**

When she Paris back to the room, the kids are well into their breakfasts and Jess is itching to get out. She pats his back in apology and digs into her omelet while Gabriela goes into a long-winded explanation of her dream, which definitely puts Jess over the edge – it's a lot to listen to first thing in the morning.

Paris turns on the television for them to be entertained while she showers and gets ready for the day. Since going into the working world, she's made a point to wear heels – she likes the confidence boost and the way her legs look in them, plus it feels more professional to her.

But Paris is not so stupid as to assume wearing heels in cobble-stoned streets is acceptable, so she puts on her barely-worn Adidas sneakers.

"Oh good," Jess says when they pass each other in the bedroom, looking down at her feet. "I forget how short you are."

"Get in the shower, jerkoff."

He barks a laugh and goes into the bathroom.

**

For someone that didn't give a fuck about school, Jess does seem to know a lot of facts about Philadelphia and American history.

Paris fully enjoys being in the same space where the Declaration of Independence and the American Constitution were signed. Even though it makes her sad that they have such a dumb twat in the White House. Alexander Hamilton would be rolling in his grave.

The kids get bored of the Independence Hall quickly and they don't care about waiting in line to look at a cracked bell, which is valid. They can see it from afar anyway.

"Why is it cracked?" Tim asks.

"No one knows for sure," Jess explains. "Legend has it that it cracked when Lafayette – a Revolutionary War hero – came to visit in 1824. Others say it cracked when it was rung for the death of Chief justice John Marshall in 1835."

"Who's that?"

"He was an extremely important person in shaping the Supreme Court and solidifying the separation of powers in our government," Paris says. "Do you remember learning about that in school?"

"The three branches of government!"

Paris loves her smart son so much. "Exactly. He helped make the judiciary branch equal to the executive and legislative branches."

Jess looks at her and he says, "We can't talk about that."

(The thought of the repugnant Republican party stacking the courts is truly nauseating.)

"He also was a slave owner, but claimed that slavery was evil, so he wasn't all that great," Jess adds.

Tim grimaces. "Oh."

"Most of these guys owned them because they were rich and didn't see the value in women."

"I'll give John Adams credit for appreciating his wife's input," Paris says.

Jess raises his eyebrows. "Really?" He then suddenly scoffs. "Please do not tell me that HBO's _John Adams_ moved you that much."

She gasps. "David McCullough is a staple in the genre – his biographies are excellent. And as for the miniseries – Paul Giamatti and Laura Linney? Perfect as a couple and individuals. Stephen Dillane as Thomas Jefferson? Incredible."

"I'm surprised you love it that much when there are a few historical inaccuracies."

Paris rolls her eyes, but nods in agreement. "John Quincy Adams was three years old at the time of the Boston Massacre – I don't know _why_ they aged him to be a teenager."

"There we go."

"It also gave Tom Hooper too much power to make crappy movies afterwards," Paris adds.

His eyes light up "I did _not_ think that opinion would come out of your brain. Seriously?"

"I can be up on pop culture," she says defensively. "I've studied it."

He laughs out loud.

"I'm serious!"

"I don't know how you study it, but I'm dying to know."

For lunch, they go to the Reading Terminal Market, which reminds her of food halls in New York City, but Jess explains that this is one of the oldest public markets, deliberately laid out in a grid system, similar to the one in New York. 

"Time for your Philly cheesesteak," Jess announces.

Paris grimaces. "They can share one, right?" She gestures to her kids, who are now walking ahead of them, talking to each other while holding hands. It'll break her heart when Tim reaches an age when he won’t want to do that. "They must be huge."

"Yeah, they'll share. You need to get it with the Whiz."

She sighs. "Please do not force me to eat that many chemicals."

"But the kids can eat it?"

"Yes, because their bodies can fight it off," Paris explains, with an obvious _duh_ left unsaid.

"That logic ain't sound."

Paris takes a picture of her sandwich because the people that work with her didn't believe she'd eat one, so she's providing photographic evidence. Assholes.

It's…really delicious. 

"Don't worry," Jess says after a few minutes of eating in silence. "We'll get you some to go tomorrow."

She makes a face at him before focusing back on her sandwich.

**

At one point while casually following a tour group in the afternoon, Paris checks her phone and wordlessly shows Jess Truncheon's latest Instagram post of the kids reading. To Matthew's word, just their profiles are visible.

"Matthew is your number one fan," she points out.

Jess takes her phone to bring it closer to his face. He grimaces when he realizes what books they're pretending to read. "Geez." _  
_  
"'Maybe we should print books for these amazing children to read. Thoughts?'" Paris reads the caption with a snort.

"We'll never print children's books. He's obnoxious," he says with a dismissive wave.

"Tim can't wait to read your books."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I'll tell you about it later."

He furrows his brow, but goes along with the change in subject.

**

Later, they grab dinner in an Italian restaurant in the hotel that also exists in New York, which Paris only agrees to doing since the kids seem exhausted, even after having Shirley Temples and desserts.

Paris hates doing it, but she buys a second bottle of wine before asking for the check so there's something substantial to drink. The bottles are always overpriced and it's not worth it, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

"I got bourbon earlier," Jess tells her once the waiter leaves the table.

She gapes. " _When_? You've been with us the entire time!"

"No – I stayed outside to talk to Lily when you all went upstairs and then I was bombarded by everyone else I knew, so I ended up walking on Market Street and passed a liquor store," he corrects her.

"How the hell did you sneak that in?" she hisses.

He wiggles his eyebrows and says nothing.

"You didn't have to do that."

"I can't have any more wine, so I was thinking ahead. Plus, it's a thank you gift. It's been nice staying here."

She pats his hand resting on his leg. "I wish we could order a pizza from here to go."

"Preparing for later?"

"While the scallops were delightful, I was extremely jealous of Gabriela's spaghetti and I want more carbs," Paris admits.

"Load up before Passover?"

"I'm going to be kosher for Passover this year!" Tim says proudly.

"Do you start at a certain age?" Jess asks.

"Depends – if there are health conditions, then you don't necessarily adhere. The house is usually kosher during Passover – it's much easier now that rice and beans are now considered kosher – but the kids get sick of the matzah," Paris explains.

"Matthew stopped eating it as soon as he left the house."

She wiggles her eyebrows. "Do _you_ want to be kosher this year?"

"There's no way of confirming it," he points out.

"True, but you're actually an honest person. So, you'd fess up if you fell off the wagon."

Tim gasps. "We could do it together!"

Gabriela's eyes light up and Paris swallows down a cackle with the rest of her wine.

He sighs in defeat. "You'll have to send me recipes."

"Gladly! Oh, no alcohol either."

He glares at Paris accusingly. She smiles brightly.

**

The kids are watching a Disney movie, most likely dozing off, which is why Paris forced them to brush their teeth as soon as they walked into the room. Jess and Paris are sitting up in bed, her drinking the wine and his breaking into the bourbon, the television playing a rerun of _The Office_.

"So, Tim wants to read my books?" Jess asks after he refills his glass during a lull in their conversation.

Paris looks up at him. "Yeah. I've been re-reading them with the lens of 'concerned mother.' But I always read whatever I wanted as a kid – my parents never gave a shit."

"I think the worst thing he'll get out of reading my books this young is confusion."

"There are references to sex," she reminds him.

"Okay, fine. But you _did_ have that talk, right? Or is that still too young."

"He kept pestering me when he was six when he overheard some jackass on the street."

Jess smiles in amusement. "Very curious child."

Paris sighs. "I don't know. I feel like I'm winging it without a damn clue when it comes to this aspect of parenting."

He looks down at his drink pensively. "My first he should be able to read. He might not know what's going on, but he shouldn't ask questions that won't be too bad to answer. Skip the second and third. Fourth…maybe."

"I haven't gotten to that one yet. Still on two. Been busy with work."

"He might not even go beyond one. It is science fiction."

She scoffs. " _Barely._ "

"It is!" he insists.

"You tease at the genre but don't fully commit."

He grins.

"You're annoying," she tells him, but ends up smiling too. 

Eventually, they both change into pajamas and she switches from the wine to the bourbon, adding ginger ale to dilute it. Paris stretches her legs out and looks at Jess, whose face is pink and he's smiling. "I like your beard," she admits.

"You've said that."

"Well, I mean it. I'm not lying."

"I wouldn't accuse you of lying."

"Yeah, I'm too honest."

"It's not a bad trait."

"No?"

"I like that you're straight forward. No one is straight forward," he finishes almost bitterly.

"God, I _know._ What's the fuckin' point?" She slides down the bed, his borrowed shirt riding up a little, but she judges it to be not that scandalous. "Did anyone in particular inspire that bourbon purchase?" she asks.

He exhales, sliding down so they're at the same level. "You got me."

"Rory?" Paris ventures.

He blinks a few times.

"I feel the same,” she shares after a beat of silence. “I don't know what's going on with her. What she's thinking. What she's feeling. I'm guessing she's just preoccupied with her book and mentally preparing for having a child."

"She's busy with the book," Jess tells her. "She's – she hit some writer's block, so she's skipping ahead."

She side eyes him. "What is she struggling with?"

He takes a large gulp of his drink instead of answering.

"Jesus," Paris hisses. "Do _not_ take that personally. She's probably figuring out how to write you properly since you showed the most character development out of all those characters."

He spits out the last of his drink that he was consuming and covers his hand with his mouth, snorting in laughter, which makes her laugh. 

Thank God her kids sleep like the dead.

"I needed that," Jess exhales finally, his voice hoarse.

"How has she been writing me?" Paris finally has the courage to ask.

He looks at her. "You were an asshole in the beginning, but she writes about you with obvious fondness."

"That's poetic." She feels something in her chest loosen. She doesn't know why she was nervous to begin with, although if she really thinks about it, she knows it's because there's a distance between them that's been happening for a while that she's trying to ignore.

"Well, I am a writer."

She reaches over and taps the tip of his nose with her finger. He takes her hand and traps it to the mattress. His hand is cool from holding his glass over the last couple of hours.

He shuts his eyes. "I want to take this bed back with me."

"Brush your teeth. And drink some water before you do that."

"Yeah." He slowly sits up with a grown and blinks a few times, taking his hand off hers to rub his eyes. "Will we be okay tomorrow?"

"Maybe. We should be good for the museums."

Paris hopes the glasses of water she chugs and the painkillers she preemptively takes before going to sleep does the trick. While thirty-two isn't that old, she can't recover as quickly as she used to.

When they settle back into bed, he admits in the dark, "Liz always drank in front of me. I saw things…" There's a pause. "I just don't want your kids to see that."

"You're not a bad drunk, for the record. You hold your shit together, which I appreciate."

"Thanks. I guess. But that's why."

She nods. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

"Vodka, I'm assuming?"

"Yep."

While everyone has a drink that ruined them in some capacity – hers is rum – she figured with Jess there was more to the aversion to vodka.

She yawns. "That was my mom's favorite too. Vodka martinis. Which was criminal since everyone knows it's supposed to be a gin martini."

Jess snorts. "Gin martinis are disgusting, so you don't win there."

"You've never had a good one then."

He pretends to heave.

"Baby. Goodnight."

"Pleasant dreams."

**

Paris has a minor headache, but it could be worse. She and Jess both eat their eggs and toast and drive coffee to compensate.

Jess uses the gym, but Paris figures today is a good rest day – besides, she thinks all the walking in the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the Rodin museum, and the Barnes Foundation will make up for it.

When they make it to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, staring up at the famous stairs, Jess suddenly says, "Wait. What did you mean when you said you studied pop culture?"

"Well, after I finished med school and got my law degree and took the bar, I decided to give myself that summer to devote myself to the things I missed while studying for my entire life. Rory and Lorelai were instrumental. Music, television, movies – all scheduled and consumed."

His eyes widen. "So, you actually developed a schedule of watching shows and movies and devoted time to listen to music? Please tell me you have a copy of this still."

She wordlessly takes out her phone, searches through her personal email, and forwards it to Jess.

"I can't wait to look at this in depth later," he says, scrolling through quickly. "I love that you devoted two weeks to the mafia genre."

"And you know what, I actually liked the ending of the _Sopranos_."

"You're after my own heart."

She smiles and dares him to run up the stairs now that he looks more like Rocky with his biceps, which inspires Timóteo and Gabriela to run up the stairs. Paris takes a video because she's weak, but she's also sure Chris and Matthew will love it.

**

Their train back to Manhattan is at six, so Jess gets them Philly cheesesteaks for dinner to go.

"I can come in on Saturday morning for Gabriela's party?" he suggests after he parks the car in front of 30th Street Station.

"The party starts at two – we're leaving at twelve for lunch, if you can make it."

"Yeah, definitely.” He reaches into his back pocket for his phone. “Oh, wait, are you guys having a Seder?"

Paris takes out her phone. ,"I can move it to Friday the fourteenth if you're offering to come. Are you coming to Rory's baby shower, or are you still not sure –"

"I can come – I'm considering taking Amtrak on the way back from Connecticut, so I have a couple of hours to work while traveling."

"And how, my dear, will you get to New York without your car?" she asks, looking up from her phone. "Please do not tell me Matthew will drive you."

"No, I might get Alicia to drive me."

"Sculptor Alicia?"

"No, Lawyer Alicia – she has a high school friend who lives in the Bronx."

Paris shudders.

Jess laughs. "Yeah, I know. Was always more of a Brooklyn guy. Maybe I should reconsider now that it's been compromised."

"There are _plenty_ of aspects of Brooklyn that haven't been compromised."

Jess rolls his eyes. "I'll see you Friday." He turns back to look at Tim and Gabriela. "Be good in school. I'll see you Friday." Jess focuses on Tim. "If you have questions about Philly for your project, just give me a call. Or have your mom email me. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Tim nods. 

"Alright, out of the car, give Jess a kiss goodbye," Paris announces.

Jess sighs and gets out of the car. Gabriela, being in the seat behind him, is the first to have her arms stretched out. Jess kneels so he can hug her, smiling when he feels her press her mouth to his cheek, parting with a ' _mwah!_ '

"Your face is itchy," she says, rubbing his chin.

"Yeah, I get that."

Tim comes around the car and he's less enthusiastic, but he hugs much more tightly. "Thank you," Tim says.

Jess pats Tim on the back.

Paris wraps an arm around Jess' waist and kisses him on the cheek. "Thanks for showing us around your city. New York is better though."

He smiles and to her surprise, he says, "Yep. Text me when you get home."

She and her kids wave Jess goodbye. She's grateful that they're not as morose as they get whenever Jess leaves. She gets some work done and savors her Philly cheesesteak. During the journey, Jess sends her "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor.

From Paris Geller:  
_Rocky III – are you testing me, Mariano?_

From Jess Mariano:  
_I thought you liked a good test._

She likes the text and smiles.

**

The week goes by quickly. Two of Paris’ surrogates gave birth without issues and her clients are very happy. Even though Doyle is high on her shit list, he's been mildly helpful while she's had to make frequent trips to Mount Sinai Hospital.

Even if Doyle keeps kvetching about Timóteo still freezing him out.

"I don't know what to tell you, Doyle," Paris says, frustration coloring her tone.

"We promised each other we wouldn't poison our kids against each other!" Doyle retorts.

"I'm not saying anything! I facilitated a way for you to apologize to him, did I not? You know he's been internalizing his emotions since the divorce. Let him process."

"Has he talked to you about it?"

Timóteo has. It took a lot for him, but he was determined to get it out: he doesn't trust his father. 

"He's hurt by it. He's getting protective over Gabriela. I think he's carrying his hurt along with hers."

"But she's fine!"

Paris clenches her teeth. "I'm saying he's feeling hurt on her behalf."

Doyle exhales sharply and glares at her.

"Is there anything else?" she asks, wanting to get back to her work. She's been listening to Spotify's suggested picks and she's found a great synth-pop one that she wants to put on repeat for days.

"Yeah, actually. What's with you and Mariano?"

Paris crosses her arms. "I'm not entertaining whatever delusion that's festering in your rotting brain."

"I don't think I'm comfortable with how involved he is – why was he in LA anyway?"

His hands on his hips infuriate her.

"Believe it or not, he actually has family out in LA and booked that trip months ago. If you ask me, we should be so fortunate as to have had him there."

"And he's coming to Gabriela's birthday?"

"She invited him."

Doyle looks put out, his arms dropping to his sides. "People will talk."

She raises her eyebrows. "And _you_ care? You don't have to see these people every day like I do. And I'm fine with Jess being there. Besides, it'll be nice to have him distract those thirsty moms rather than digging for dirt on our relationship."

Doyle has the decency to look a little guilty. "I just think he's trying to weasel his way in –"

"Oh, shut up, you dramatic ho. Get out."

He makes a face at her, but leaves. She shuts her office door and pulls up Spotify and starts the song over again – _somebody broke me once, love was a currency…_

She bops her head to the chorus – _your hand forever's all I want, don't take the money, don't take the money…_

**

From Jess Mariano:  
 _This song is straight out of a John Hughes movie. I hate it.  
_  
Twenty minutes later:

From Jess Mariano:  
_It's an earworm, I take it back._

__

**

Paris gets a call from Rory two days before Gabriela's birthday, telling her that she can't come to the party – that her doctor wants to limit traveling for the last month of the pregnancy. Paris had told her months ago that she could purchase her Amtrak tickets, but Rory brushed off the offer, thinking she'd be fine.

Paris checks the prices of Amtrak tickets and sighs. Over a year ago, she would've bought them for Rory without a thought, but now –

Paris closes the web browser. "Okay. We'll see you next weekend anyway."

" _Tell Gabriela I'm so, so sorry._ "

"I will."

" _Her birthday card should arrive tomorrow or on her birthday._ "

"You always do send creative cards."

There's a long pause before Rory asks, " _So…how was Philly?_ "

"It was good actually seeing the city properly."

" _Where did you stay? The Ritz?_ "

"No, Rittenhouse. More child friendly."

" _Right. Makes sense._ "

Paris bites back a sigh. "How's the book?"

" _It's moving along. I skipped ahead to Yale – I got inspired._ "

Paris suddenly remembers the article she read about Logan’s marriage while she was in Philly. "Did you see the Saturday _Times_?"

Rory exhales. " _Yeah. Beautiful couple._ "

Paris snorts. "If there was ever a more disappointing man after Doyle."

" _Well, I mean, he did what he had to do – the recession screwed everyone over._ "

Paris furrows her brow. "Yeah…but I thought he went through, like, a period of growth where he was determined to not work for his asshole father."

" _Yeah, well, again. The recession. And he finally acknowledged his privilege and accepted the opportunities he had._ "

Paris stops typing. "Did you see him recently or something?"

" _Yeah, actually. One of my last trips to London. Ran into him at a restaurant I was at with Naomi._ "

It takes a second for Paris’ brain to restart. "Oh, wow. Small world…why'd you keep that from me?"

" _Oh, it wasn't a big deal. We just had a drink and parted ways. Seriously. We caught up with each other on our lives. So. I have newfound empathy._ "

_Empathy_? Paris doesn’t have the fucking time to dissect that. "Well…wow. Okay."

" _Anyway. Good for them. So, was Jess a good tour guide?_ "

Paris accepts the change in subject like a lifeline. "Yeah, I told him if he needed a side job, he could apply to be a tour guide for the city."

Rory laughs. " _Wow, I can't imagine that._ "

"Well, he's now lived there for twelve years. He's picked up a lot." It comes out a little more accusatory than intended, but she's still smarting from not knowing that Rory bumped into Logan.

" _Yeah, that's true. When I bumped into Jess while following Obama, he still only knew his neighborhood and like, two surrounding ones._ " Rory laughs fondly at the memory.

Paris remembers Jess tipsy in the hotel bed and bites back a retort.

"What did you get Gabriela for her birthday?" Paris asks to change the topic again.

" _My mom and I teamed up and got her this beaded necklace and bracelet set that should keep her busy. My mom wants someone to share her love of hair accessories, so she got her this set that includes a bunch of headbands that you can customize._ "

"Sounds great."

Paris is sure by the summer, Gabriela will drop this hobby and find something else to occupy her time. 

" _Oh, I gotta go – I just thought of something I wanted to add in my book. I'll see you next week!_ "

"Bye, Rory."

Once they disconnect, Paris slams her laptop shut and goes to her bedroom to change into workout clothes to get a half hour run in.

**

Gabriela’s birthday party – this year it is actually on her birthday – is essentially a paint and sip in which the children are sipping on juice or soda and the adults are sipping alcohol. With a mermaid theme.

Paris doesn’t remember her mom drinking at kids’ birthday parties, but then again, she doesn’t think she even went to any in the first place.

"Is this a thing that parents do? Drink at kids’ birthday parties?" Jess asks, his voice low.

"Yep. I hate it, honestly. Want a drink?"

"I’ll just get a soda. Drink at your place later. Need me to do anything?"

"Make sure the snack bowls are full and top off any drinks. Not too much."

"Got it."

Paris socializes and she hates half of the parents. A lot of the kids are brats, but it makes Gabriela happy to see that most of them dressed for the theme. She looks the best, obviously.

They’re all painting their paint-by-numbers and Jess crouches next to Timóteo at one point, pointing at his canvas. Tim beams in pride. Doyle thankfully is in the bathroom and misses this.

"Who’s that?"

Paris almost rolls her eyes. "He’s a childhood friend. We’ve reconnected over the past few months."

The mother who asked – is David's, who sits next to Gabriela in class – is clearly interested. "Boyfriend?"

Paris snorts. "No. He lives in Philly. He just came up for Gabriela – my kids love him. He’s their Uncle Jess."

"That’s so sweet. He really is a darling with them," she gushes.

It's definitely Paris’ favorite birthday party she's had for her kids, mostly because nobody cries, none of the moms are drunk, Doyle only pisses her off less than half of the time. The cake is enjoyed by all and the kids leave the party with their masterpieces that will end up in the trash after a month and a little bag of goodies including chocolates in the shape of shells and ocean-themed stickers.

"What's for dinner? And please tell me I have time to wash my face," Jess asks as soon as they leave the studio.

He gracefully allowed Gabriela to paint his face with pink, blue, and green and Paris took at least five photos.

"Pizza and you have time. Be gentle."

He's trying to flick it off his face, but he keeps wincing.

Clementina ends up saving his face before they miss their reservation. Ever since the separation and consequent divorce, Paris has started speaking Portuguese with Clementina and the children more often, not being hindered by Doyle, who refused to learn anything beyond _please_ and _thank you_ , which pissed Paris off since he could speak Spanish conversationally.

Otherwise, she does think it's rude to speak in a language that not everyone understands. 

Paris catches Clementina sharing kosher recipes for Jess to try during the week, which is sweet. 

"I can get away with not eating matzah?" Jess asks Clementina with a hopeful expression on his face.

"It's my duty to ensure they don't eat it here."

He snorts. "Thank you. _Obrigato_ – did I say that right?"

" _Perfeito_."

"I understand that one."

Later, when Jess is carrying his overnight bag in hand, Tim asks hopefully, "Are you coming to Aunt Rory's party?"

"Yep. There's also Passover, right?"

Tim smiles brightly.

Now that Paris is thinking about it, Jess and she have been seeing each other a lot for people that live in different states. She should absolutely despise him at this point, but she doesn't. Which is rare. 

She even…misses him a little after he leaves. Which is stupid.

**

From Matthew Steinman:  
 _Are you trying to activate my Jewish guilt???_

From Paris Geller:  
_I didn't – my children did. Will you be kosher like a good boy?_

__From Matthew Steinman:  
_I will stop the moment that matzah is brought into the mix._

__From Paris Geller:  
_SureJan.gif_

From Matthew Steinman:  
_:O_

__(What? She knows some memes.)

**

Paris Geller was never an idiot. She learned early that if things don't change immediately, then they never will. The prime example being school shootings. Once Columbine happened and gun control didn't change, she knew it wouldn't change. It would only get worse.

And now here she is, watching the television in the conference room about yet another elementary school shooting. 

She swallows over the lump in her throat.

She can't think about the risks of sending her children to school in this day and age because she'll lose her mind.

(When Sandy Hook happened, she held three-year-old Timóteo and one-year-old Gabriela in her arms and sobbed uncontrollably for hours.)

Paris' phone buzzes with a text. She thinks it's Doyle, but is surprised to see it's Jess.

From Jess Mariano:  
_Are you okay? Just heard about the shooting in San Bernardino._

From Paris Geller:  
_Shook up, as with every school shooting. And mass shooting. They're saying it was DV?_

From Jess Mariano:  
_Yeah. Murder-suicide. Asshole._

From Paris Geller:  
_Not supposed to believe in hell but he can rot in hell._

__From Jess Mariano:  
_Thoughts and prayers!_

From Paris Geller:  
_A phrase that really grinds my fucking gears._

From Paris Geller:  
_Is Lily okay?_

__From Jess Mariano:  
_I won't hear back from her until tonight, but I'm assuming she's upset and pissed off. It's close to home with her students._

From Paris Geller:  
_Fuck guns, people are too stupid to utilize them properly and our government is too stupid to do anything about it.  
_  
She thinks about explaining herself, defending herself. Again, she's not an idiot, she knows –  
_  
_ From Jess Mariano:  
_I always fucking hated guns._

She doesn't know why that's a surprise, but it somehow is. Maybe it's because some of his favorite books and movies feature violence. But still. She enjoys _Reservoir Dogs_ and still hates the fact that guns are available in Walmart.

She emphasizes his text.

From Paris Geller:  
_I have a meeting – I'll talk to you later. Thanks for checking in. That was nice of you._

__She sees him struggling to type.

From Paris Geller:  
_Thumbs up would suffice – don't break your brain._

From Jess Mariano:  
_Haha. Was struggling to find a way to convey emotions that would make us both uncomfortable._

__From Paris Geller:  
_No need – I got it. Back at you._

Now he gives her a thumbs up, which she likes.

She does find herself in a better mood than she thought possible.

**

From Doyle McMaster:  
 _And how much do you want to fucking bet that nothing will be done even though this is YET ANOTHER example of domestic violence being a glaring precursor to mass shootings?!??!? Utterly fucking despicable I swear to fucking god!!!!_

 __It's times like these that Paris sees the old Doyle still in him, but it's buried under too much change. She'll tell everyone that it pisses her off, but it really just breaks her heart.

**

Paris gets that sometimes shit just happens to people and changes them. Her getting pregnant in 2008 was the last thing she expected – or wanted – but she was determined to do it all – medical school, residency. Law school part time. Gestating. Planning to be a mother that was better than the one she had.

The thing was – Paris thrived on it. She always thrived on doing the work – speed reading hundreds of pages of information, digesting it, writing papers, memorizing diagrams. She partnered with a professor in medical school who always wanted to be involved in surrogacy, but have a hand in coordinating adoption. She just needed a partner.

They met in Paris' second semester and it was a damn good thing that Paris almost managed to get a Major in Business alongside her Pre-Med. (She blames her stupid interest in classical architecture for not achieving it (but she made sure to make that class worth it later on).)

So, by the time Paris finished the third year of her residency, passed the bar – she had the world at her fingertips, but was left with a relationship with her husband that she didn't recognize anymore. 

The final straw was her business partner dying of a brain aneurysm and Paris being left with a business that while she helped build from the ground up, she was primarily behind the scenes due to not having the credentials yet.

The subsequent grief was too much and the dramatic reveal of Doyle writing spec scripts and dreaming of Hollywood was just the final nail in the coffin.

Paris has always preferred to keep busy, not knowing how to handle "downtime" since she's never had anything she wanted to do, hobby-wise. Nor did she have many friends.

But now, this year – just having her job and nothing else – no studying, no licensing…

It leaves with her a lot of freedom to do things that are not necessarily in character.

**

"I swear to God, Rory, this kid is a dead-ringer for that former member of Hep Alien," Paris says on the phone after watching her second episode of _The O.C._ It's dramatic and ridiculous, but it's also amazing. It also makes her want Chanel, despite the fact that Coco Chanel was a Nazi supporter.

" _You're about fifteen years late on that one._ "

"I'm right though, yeah?"

" _Yeah, I can kind of see it. Lane doesn't see it at all._ "

"Are you kidding? I actually had to Google the show credits to make sure that it wasn't Dave Ryg-whatever playing Seth Cohen."

" _You sound hyper, did you have coffee after four today?_ "

"Yes, but that doesn't detract from my ability to recognize faces."

Rory laughs. " _I can't believe you're watching that. Why?_ "

"Constantly expanding my pop culture knowledge. I need something to keep me occupied."

" _You're too used to studying all the time! There's no test at the end – it's never ending, actually._ "

"Great, then I'll be occupied indefinitely."

" _You do realize that the sheer amount of work you did over the last nine, ten years was literally impossible for any other human being to accomplish? You're allowed to do something for fun._ "

"I do things for fun."

" _Like what?_ " Rory asks disbelievingly.

"I did go to Philadelphia for recreational purposes. Well, and Tim is doing a project on Pennsylvania. So, it was educational."

" _We're going to ignore the rest of the state?_ "

"Not true," Paris answers defensively. "The Amish will be properly represented. They make excellent coffee cake, the only thing they're good for."

Rory sighs on the other line. " _Yeah, that's true. Their baked goods are truly outstanding._ "

Paris breaks off a piece of matzah and shmears on peanut butter.

" _What are you eating?_ " Rory asks excitedly.

"Matzah and peanut butter. I'm already sick of it and it's day three."

" _Day three – oh right. Passover. Happy Passover?_ "

"Thanks. Tim is going kosher for the first time – he's doing well. It helps that a lot of food Clementina makes from Portugal is naturally kosher. I think he'll struggle with snacks."

" _Thank God I'm not Jewish – if I had to eat matzah right now, I think I'd barf._ "

"Still on the brioche kick?"

" _Yeah. I also ate so many croissants today, it's disgusting._ "

And the bitch has barely gained weight – Rory looks exactly the same as she always did except now has a baby bump. Paris gained almost twenty-five pounds in her first pregnancy and twenty her second. 

" _Oh, shoot!_ " Rory exclaims.

Paris jumps. "What?"

" _I don't have anything kosher for this weekend – I didn't realize the baby shower falls in the middle of Passover! I'm going to call Sookie first thing – she can make something amazing._ "

Paris smiles. "If Sookie doesn't have time, it's okay –"

" _Don't worry about it, really. God, that would've been so awful if Tim couldn't eat anything._ _Or you!_ "

"I would've broken kosher for Sookie's cooking without any regret, but I know Tim is determined."

Paris almost brings up Jess keeping kosher this year, but refrains. Rory will find out eventually.

"Okay, I have time for one more episode before sleep – I'll see you Saturday."

" _Bye._ "

"Bye."

Paris hangs up and starts the new episode. " _California here we come…_ " she sings along with the opening.

**

From Jess Mariano:  
 _Truncheon is all kosher this week. Please thank Clementina for me – her recipes are making this painless._

From Paris Geller:  
_I will. Painless? Really?_

From Jess Mariano:  
_People will start complaining on Thursday about not being able to drink beer and hard liquor, but they'll survive._

From Jess Mariano:  
_Actually, I may kvetch on Saturday. What do you even do at a baby shower?_

From Paris Geller:  
_You will look back on this conversation and laugh. Or curse yourself._

__

**

Paris _loathes_ baby showers. She didn't have them for her children and she has zero regrets on that.

But she gets why Rory can't get away with not having one when an entire town is obsessed with her. Paris just threatened Rory that if they play the game of guessing the mushed chocolate bar in a diaper game, she'll be in the car driving back to NYC without looking back.

"That's a real game? Are you kidding?" Jess asks as Paris describes it to him as she drives up I-95 North.

The kids are chorusing, " _Ew!_ " in the back.

"I wish. This one baby shower I went to when I was completing my residency, we had to play that game and I flat-out refused to play. Ruined that friendship."

"That friendship wasn't worth it. No friendship is worth it." Jess sighs. "At least Rory won't have dumb games."

"Rory wouldn't, but Lorelai will. There will be _activities_."

Jess grimaces. "Ugh." Pause. "There is no possible alcohol to drink during Passover?" The slight desperation in his tone is evident.

"Some wines."

"Fine, done," he says, thrilled.

"We can stop in Woodbridge on the way."

Jess takes out his phone and after a minute, he brings it to his ear. "Hi, do you sell kosher wines?" Pause. "Fantastic. Can you save two bottles of dry white – any kind is fine…yeah sure – Jess Mariano. We should be there in about…an hour and a half. Thanks." He hangs up. "Got some."

She snorts.

**

When they arrive, Stars Hollow has pink _everywhere_.

"Uh, is Rory definitely having a girl?" Jess asks, drumming his fingers against the bag of wine.

Paris is trying not to laugh. "Rory wanted it to be a surprise – the town is just convinced it has to be a girl."

"That kid definitely needs to be a boy for hilarity."

"I hope it's a boy," Tim adds. "I can teach him things."

"Oh, yeah? What would you teach him?" Jess asks, smiling as they walk toward the gazebo.

Later, there are games like guessing the parents of celebrity babies and some sort of timed contest on changing diapers. Paris wins that, obviously.

Sookie has amazing kosher snacks to the point that other people start eating them.

"Goyims need to not eat the kosher food," Jess says loudly.

Taylor gasps. "How rude!"

Jess rolls his eyes. "Goyim isn't an insult, Taylor. It means non-Jewish person."

"Well, why are you allowed to eat them, then?" Taylor counters.

Jess adopts an offended expression, "You don't know my life. I could've converted to Judaism."

"You most certainly did not!"

"I'm keeping kosher for Passover."

Taylor sputters and Jess smiles cheekily.

"Careful, we wouldn't want Taylor to think there was any religious diversity going on," Paris mutters.

Jess barks out a laugh.

**

At one point, Paris sits with Rory for a little, who is absentmindedly rubbing her stomach.

"It's funny – Jess didn't smile a lot when we were kids. At least – not like this."

Paris follows Rory’s line of sight and Jess is with the children – her kids, Doula, Steve, Kwan – Paris was worried that Gabriela would be ignored or forgotten since she's the youngest, but Doula seems to like being around a girl for once. 

"I never thought he'd be so good with kids. Sometimes I don't even know how to talk to them," Rory admits.

"He takes them seriously."

Rory looks at her with a confused expression.

"You know how kids say shit that makes you laugh? Or sometimes they just speak for the hell of it?"

"Yeah…"

Paris shrugs. "He processes everything like it's important."

"What, why?"

Paris shrugs again. "Maybe because nobody took him seriously as a kid."

Rory looks at her with a funny expression that Paris can't point out. "Has he told you stuff about his childhood?" Rory asks with obviously forced lightness.

"Referenced,” Paris answers in a way that she hopes comes across as casual. “I mean, not a lot of people are like me, constantly sharing disturbing tidbits about my childhood, leaving people to wonder how I don't have a myriad of mental health issues – _don't_."

Rory bites her bottom lip.

Paris exhales. "I don't know. He doesn't need to tell anyone. We all have our secrets."

Roy nods, looks down.

"Are you okay?" Paris asks, narrowing her eyes.

"Yeah! Yeah. I'm just…nervous. Giving birth. My mom traumatized me growing up, so."

Paris pats Rory’s hand that’s on her stomach. "Well, for one, be prepared because you're going to have a bowel movement on the table."

Rory gags. "Ugh! God!"

**

At one point, Paris catches Jess and Rory talking in the gazebo. It's a serious conversation, but occasionally, Rory tilts her head, blinks, smiles in a way that –

Paris looks away.

**

On the ride home, Jess is subdued, not commenting on Tim's choice of music for the first half hour of the journey, which is depressing – Paris needs to really pay more attention to what music he's listening to if his taste is leaning towards these lyrics that would've grated her as kid, but breaks her heart now.

Jess only reacts once by skipping a song after they hear _you promise, you promise, that you're done, but I can't tell you from the drugs._ At this point the silence is almost stifling to the point that Timóteo doesn't comment on the unceremonious skip.

Paris looks at Jess from the corner of her eyes, but he's looking ahead, his gaze dark, his face a little hard.

How he used to be, if Paris remembers correctly from the brief conversations she had with Rory when they were finishing up Chilton.

"Tim, I love you, but this music is bringing down the mood," Paris says to break the silence.

"The next one is faster," Tim points out.

Paris skips the current track and yes, he's right, it's definitely a harder sound, which helps for a few minutes. Until the next song is slow too.

Gabriela giggles.

It's a little better, but Paris isn't exactly loving the lyrics about a dysfunctional couple having sex in the back of a car with alcohol involved.

"That was a good lyric," Jess says out of the blue.

"What?" Paris asks.

" _'It'd be easy, if you get mad, but three fingers point back to you_ ,'" he recites easily.

"What does that mean?" Tim asks quickly, as if he'd never have another chance of getting an answer for something he's always wondered. "'Three fingers point back to you?'"

"It means, when you point at someone," Jess starts, pointing at Tim, then lifting his hand to show his palm. "Three fingers are pointing back at the person doing the pointing."

"Projecting," Paris adds. "She calls you out on something, but she does it too."

"Exactly."

Paris checks on Tim, who is looking out of the window thoughtfully, and then on Jess, who is looking at her. 

Paris sighs.

"Yeah," Jess exhales.

**

When they get home, it's dinnertime, but Jess excuses himself to the gym. Paris lies to her kids to say that he missed his morning workout so they could get to the party on time. She promises them that he'll say goodnight to them once he's done.

In the meantime, she sips wine and after an hour and a half has passed, she goes to the gym on the third floor with a tray of beverages – water, beer, bourbon, wine – and lets herself in.

He's stretching, and if she didn't know any better, she'd think he'd learned it from a yoga class or two.

He looks up at once and eyes the tray with amusement.

"Wasn't sure what you'd be interested in," Paris says. "There's also food. Clementina made sure you'd have at least seconds."

"It's still Passover." He's eyeing the beer longingly.

"I won't tell if you won't."

"Thank you. I appreciate it." He exhales, getting to his feet. "I'll take the water and the beer."

He double-fists them for a moment and she takes the wine.

"Just so you know..." Paris starts slowly, "You can talk to me. I won’t say anything." To Rory. 

He finishes the glass of water and exhales, placing the glass on the ground and wiping his face up, running his hands through his sweat-damp hair. "You’ll hate it," he says after a pause. 

"Objectively, yes." She’s never been great with feelings — it’s been a learned skill over the years, plus the crash course that came with motherhood.

"Subjectively?"

"I hate it because you deserve better than whatever she feels capable of giving, which isn’t much."

He clenches his jaw, looks down at the floor. "I don’t feel it all of the time. It’s not like it was when I was nineteen, only seeing her twice –"

She furrows her brow. "Wait, what?"

He stares at her for a few moments before his jaw slacks in disbelief. "You’re kidding."

More things Rory didn’t tell her. "It’s not important right now," she says firmly, with finality. "So, it just happens every once in a while, when she does something or says something that reminds you why you even loved her in the first place?"

He gives her a funny half smile. "I don’t know how I feel about you pinpointing how I’m feeling or thinking like that."

"I’m not holding it against you. I know it’s irrational, like most emotions."

"So...I’m an irrational asshole?" he guesses.

She smiles briefly. "I think you’re like me in that we love a little too fiercely for the average individual. It’s impossible for it to go away completely. I get it with Doyle."

"Don’t do that," he says quietly. 

"What?"

"Compare your relationship to Doyle to mine with Rory. You promised each other a life together. You share children with him."

Paris' heart aches when she thinks back on her wedding day - a no frills elopement with a handful of people bearing witness. She wore a cream dress because her mother drilled into her head that white washes her out. She did think forever at the time, but she was also hungry for adulthood and doing everything she wanted, what she was capable of. 

That will always outlast any relationship. 

"Everything is relative. We can compare our failed relationships and maybe I win based on society’s milestones, but I don’t want to compete with you."

The words hang in the silence and it hits Paris a little too late that it's unfamiliar as it is monumental. She’s always competed - with peers, with Rory, with coworkers, with Jaime and Asher and Doyle. It’s all she knew, until her children, whom she loves unconditionally. 

And there’s Jess. There are things they can compete on - the number of books read, stances on politics, the changing landscape of NYC, but it’s never been about that.

He smiles a little, his eyes soft; he understands. "Except in the gym."

She smiles back, but she feels raw and exposed. And she's not sure she likes it.

She wishes she could talk to someone about this, about how she thinks Rory is taking advantage, that Jess might feel trapped under some obligation that he'll always owe the golden girl for breaking her heart and yet helping him avoid a life path of self-destruction.

And maybe Paris should talk to someone about how she thinks she should feel torn about it, given that Rory has always been one of the people she loves most, whom she sympathizes with. Paris was always on Rory's side, even when she took Logan back in college, even when she quit the Obama trail, even when she missed Tim's graduation from preschool because she was stuck in London.

Now, though, it's crystal fucking clear to Paris whom she defend.

**

(Paris debates on sending him "True Colors" or "Umbrella" to him, the former being a little too on the nose and the latter too irritating. She instead sends a song called "Bail Me Out" that she heard from Tim's room during the week. Jess naturally hates it, but she bets he got a good laugh out of it.)

**

On Earth Day, Paris gets brunch with a friend – more of a close acquaintance, really – from medical school named Emma Liu. Emma was born and raised in the Upper East Side and came to Boston for med school and absolutely hated it. Paris thought Emma would end up back in New York after she was done, but she fell in love with a San Franciscan native during her residency and lives there now.

"Still trying to convince him that New York is the place to be to raise a kid," Emma sighs, dejected.

"Come on, you must like it a little if you're still there with him," Paris scoffs.

"Yeah, I mean I do, but. It's just not New York."

"Does he even like it here? Those west coast people are really obnoxious when it comes to the east coast."

Emma smiles. "Yeah, well, likewise." She sighs. "Enough about me. What about you – how are you doing?"

"Good. Getting the hang of being divorced."

"Your kids are okay?"

"Yeah, they're good – we did it early enough that I don't think it fucked them up too badly, but I guess we'll see."

"Dare I ask about men? Or have you experienced the power of pussy?"

"Em, I've tried. Believe me. Nobody wants to be a lesbian more than me. I'm depressingly straight. So, no men."

Emma pouts. "Fine."

"I did make a friend."

Emma’s expression brightens. "You never make friends."

"God, I know."

"Does the segue mean that it's a male friend and if so, I want pictures."

"Like you wouldn't want pics if the friend was a woman."

"True."

Paris unlocks her phone and scrolls through her latest pictures until she finds a couple from Gabriela's birthday and their weekend in Philly. 

"Paris, what the fuck. Where did you find him?!" Emma squeals.

"Long story. I've known him since I was a teenager. We reconnected recently."

"He's single, right? No wedding ring from what I can see…"

"Yeah, he's single. I actually don't know much about his dating history, to be honest. At least not what's happened since high school."

Emma furrows her brow in thought, closely inspecting a picture. "Well, the fact that he hasn't been taken yet and he's our age is a little concerning…"

"If I were an idiot, I'd say no, he's just a Scorpio. But since I don't believe in that bullshit, I'll just say he's particular about whom he spends his time with."

"Oh, so like you," Emma concludes as she hands the phone back to Paris.

Paris shrugs, not denying it.

"Okay, well that's promising."

"It's not promising, we're friends, he's like an uncle to my children."

"How's the home treating you?" Emma continues on, like Paris didn't say anything.

Paris grimaces and takes a long drink of her bloody Mary. "I've been toying with the idea of moving."

" _Really_?"

"Yeah, it's become a hassle, and the renovation for fitting an elevator will be a pain in the ass. Besides, as idiotic as it sounds, I would like a fresh start."

"If you want a real estate broker that doesn't make you want to kill yourself, my sister got her license three years ago and she's great. She works with a range of people, so she can find something in your price range."

"Are you sure she can deal with me?"

"Well, if she's anything like me, right?" Emma smiles, reaching into her bag for her wallet and taking out a card. "You can text her, if you want, she knows who you are."

"Again, are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Paris takes the card. "Thanks."

"You shouldn't be living in a walk-up, even if you own the entire building."

Paris grimaces "Yeah. Fuck Doyle."

"Are you really okay?"

Paris smiles genuinely. "Yeah. I'm okay."

After parting ways, she texts Emma's sister Eileen to request a meeting.

**

On May first, Paris gets a call at four in the afternoon from Lorelai.

"Is Rory okay?" Paris demands.

" _She’s fine! She – she actually gave birth this morning!_ "

"What?!"

" _Came out of nowhere, took us all by surprise, etc. It was twelve hours – not as long as me, but a decent go. Mom and baby are healthy._ "

Paris exhales, her heart still pounding in her chest. "Wow. Okay, well, good. I’m really thrilled. Do we have a gender or name?"

" _Lorelai the Third._ "

She smiles. "Of course. I expect no less. Nickname?"

" _Lola._ "

"Cute."

" _Yeah. We’ll send a billion pictures, don’t you worry_."

"Great – just give Rory my love. Congratulations, Grandma."

" _Don’t you start,_ " Lorelai orders, but Paris can tell she’s happy. " _I gotta go, but I’ll let you know when we schedule a mass viewing of the baby._ "

Paris snorts. "Okay, bye Lorelai."

Paris hangs up and immediately pulls up her texts with Jess.

From Paris Geller:  
_Rory gave birth early._

From Jess Mariano:  
_Unfortunately, I only know this because my uncle called me a couple of hours ago hysterically crying about it and I’m personally upset that he subjected me to that much emotion._

From Paris Geller:  
_Thanks for the heads up!!! I could’ve had shit delivered at the end of today or first thing tomorrow!_

From Jess Mariano:  
_I figured some Stars Hollow resident would call you about it and you can’t really fake enthusiasm.  
_  
From Paris Geller:  
_Rude. I’m a fabulous actress. But fine, I couldn’t fake that initial excitement._  
  
From Paris Geller:  
_I would pay big bucks to see you hold a baby._

From Jess Mariano:  
_I’ve held plenty of babies._

From Paris Geller:  
_Bullshit, don’t believe you._

From Jess Mariano:  
_I’ve held Doula when she was a baby._

From Paris Geller:  
_Please – I doubt that was more than twice. Next._

From Jess Mariano:  
_There have been other babies, I'm not defending myself against this weird accusation._

From Paris Geller:  
_Matthew would tell me the truth._

From Jess Mariano:  
_Yeah, because you make him piss his pants every time you text him without warning._

From Paris Geller:  
_I love the fear in his eyes. Reminds me of the good ol' days._

__From Jess Mariano:  
_You don't terrorize your employees enough?_

From Paris Geller:  
_Only the assistants – it builds character. I'll have you know I have great friendships with four of my previous assistants – we grab drinks or coffee every few months and I always provide glowing recommendations._

From Jess Mariano:  
_I don't believe you._

Paris goes through her phone and sends him pictures of each of the assistants with her, one of which was at the wedding of her assistant prior to Phoebe. Paris also adds a 'fuck you' for good measure.

From Jess Mariano:  
_You are by far the most interesting person I know._

It's a stupid fucking text that makes her smile a stupid amount.

**

From Paris Geller:  
 _Hey Ror, just checking in. I'm sure Lorelai is the best support you can have, but if you need anything let me know. All my love to you and Lola._

__

**

From Rory Gilmore:  
 _Hey, sorry, it's been pure exhaustion. I don't remember what it's like to sleep through the night. I'm good, Lola is good when she's not screaming my ears off. My mom wants to have some weird baby viewing for everyone, which we'll have toward the middle of June, so you can properly meet her then. Thanks for the diapers and wipes – really appreciate it!_

**

From Jess Mariano:  
 _Please see attached for a picture of me holding a baby, weirdo._

It's a picture of Jess with Lola.

Paris doesn't respond.

**

Paris' phone buzzes with an incoming call from Jess a few hours later while she's stretching after a workout.

" _I didn't realize she didn't invite you over,_ " he says in lieu of a greeting. " _Although to be fair, I was in town because Doula wanted to go to the Book Barn, which is literally the only decent place in Connecticut._ "

"Used books?" Paris questions with a grimace.

" _Snob_ ," he teases. " _Why didn't she invite you? I mean, you not only had one child, you had two._ "

"I don't know. I don't pretend to understand all of Rory Gilmore's quirks," Paris says with too much snark as she folds over to touch her toes.

Jess laughs. " _You probably intimidate her. She probably thinks you bounced back in two days and will judge her._ "

"That's an insane assumption. I was working remotely by day five."

" _My mistake._ "

"I also had the help of two nannies and a husband. I didn't focus much on the bonding. I barely remember looking at my children while I was breastfeeding them. Half the time I was typing emails or papers."

" _The well-adjustment of your children is nothing short of a miracle._ "

"Tell me about it." She straightens up and sighs.

" _Would you do it differently if you were to get pregnant now?_ "

She thinks as she does a front thigh stretch. "Maybe I'd give myself more time, but I can't see myself just doing mom things for an extended period of time. And luckily, I have the means to do what I want, so." She switches to her other leg. "Although, I guess it depends if I have a partner too. What about you? Do you even want kids?"

" _For so long, I didn't because I didn't want the responsibility – potentially fucking someone up like Liz did with me. But now I don't feel like…I won't do the worst kind of damage._ "  
_  
_ "I think you'd give the normal amount of damage good parents inevitably do their children."  
_  
_ He snorts. " _That's encouraging._ "

"I mean it, I don't say this shit to make you feel better."

Jess laughs a little. " _Thanks._ "

"Do you have to work in the city some point in the next two months besides this wedding? The kids are going to LA for three weeks and they'd want to spend quality time with you."

" _Oh, yeah, I meant to email you. I'll be there in June for a meeting – their last day of school is the twenty-third, right? I'll be in the week before._ "

"Okay, great…" She picks up her phone and blocks off the week to add his name. "Do you have summer plans?"

" _What, besides work?_ "

"Yeah. I spend the month of August in the Hamptons with the kids. You want to come at one point?"

" _I like how I didn't know you owned property there._ "

"Used to in Montauk, but sold it in the divorce. Now I rent in Bridgehampton or East Hampton. This year it's East Hampton."

" _That's too classy for me._ "

She rolls her eyes. "Shut the fuck up. Figure out your schedule and let me know."

He laughs. " _Okay._ " She stretches in silence for a minute until he adds, " _I'd excuse Rory for having her head up her ass for a limited amount of time. After that, I say take a go at her._ "

"Fine. Does the baby cry as much as she says it does?"

" _Yeah, honestly I think she has a colic? Is that the term?_ "

Paris winces. "Too early to diagnose, but yeah. That's rough."

" _Cute, I guess. I don't know; newborns are kind of gross-looking._ "

"Absolutely. Except mine, because I only produce quality work."

Jess bursts out laughing and it makes her feel triumphant. " _You have to send pictures._ "

"I'll email you albums."

" _Waiting with baited breath. And I mean that genuinely._ "

"You keep holding your breath and see what happens."

" _Hah, I gotta go and sit in utter silence for five hours to recover. Speak to you later._ "

"Bye."

She hangs up and finds herself laughing a little.

**

Paris doesn't pick out a dress for Lucy's wedding – her assistant Phoebe does. Phoebe is by far the most fashion-conscious of Paris' assistants yet, so Paris (mostly) trusts Phoebe when she says Paris will look good in a maxi dress.

"It's in the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. You can look pretty and not like you're going to murder all the guests," Phoebe points out flatly. "Besides, you look nice in pastels. Does Jess need a suit?"

Jess doesn't, but Paris asks Matthew anyway to confirm and to make sure it fits well. Nothing pisses her off more than an ill-fitting suit since the bar is already below the earth for men when it comes to fashion.

From Jess Mariano:  
_Please bother my uncle with the story of getting this suit. He was with me._

She does call the diner to get the story from Luke, who is frazzled during the entire interaction, but she eases up and eventually asks him about Lola, which puts him at ease.

" _I hope you get some pictures of Jess in the garden,_ " Luke adds toward the end of their conversation.

"Absolutely."

" _I gotta admit, I thought your friendship with him was a little weird, but you seem to be two peas in a pod_."

Paris doesn't like that – the infantilization of her friendship with Jess. 

"Right, well, we're in some weird times," Paris says flatly. "I have to go, but thanks for confirming for me." She hangs up and goes back to work.

**

Jess Mariano is the fucking worst, somehow convincing Paris to take the subway to Brooklyn from the Upper West Side.

"You'll be fine," he drawls while they wait on the platform. "I said we can get an Uber afterwards."

"This is disgusting. It's hot," she snaps.

"It's not that hot. Besides, you're wearing light clothes. I'm the one in the damn suit."

He looks good in it – she should send Luke a thank you note for helping him pick it out.

The subway arrives quickly enough and thankfully the car has fully-functioning AC. She feels ridiculous sitting there – her at the very end, him at her other side – but the beauty of New York is that people don't look at them twice. It also helps that at one point, someone comes in wearing a dog outfit and their pet wearing a Minion costume for two stops. Jess has to keep a hand on her knee so she doesn't run out at Park Place.

But for the most part, she finds the journey tolerable due to Jess. He seems so comfortable in a way that's mind boggling, that she'll never understand. He updates her on Random House to entertain her.

"I'll have to go to New York more," he tells her.

"Give me your dates and I'll have your room ready. I'll also just get you a set of keys…" Paris trails off, pulling her phone from her bag to add a note to have a copy of the house keys made.

"You _really_ don't have to do that. I don't have to stay at your home every time and you _definitely_ don't have to give me copies of your keys," Jess insists.

"You don't, but the option is there. And the keys are non-negotiable. I'm not bending my schedule to let you into my house in the case that Clementina nor I am not there. And I'm not risking you scaling the wall."

He rolls his eyes. "I've only done that at Luke's _twice_ in my youth. I'm not nimble enough for that kind of work."

She wiggles her eyebrows.

He narrows his eyes at her. "Shut up."

"You can do yoga with me."

"You don't do yoga."

"I do an intense, hot yoga class every once in a while. Sweat out the toxins."

"By hot yoga…how hot?"

"Like…ninety-degrees?"

He grimaces.

"Trust me, it's hell during it, but when you leave the studio, it's the best feeling in the world. You can't shit on something until you try it. It's like literature. You can't shit on a book until you've suffered reading it thoroughly and completely."

"You're the only one I know who gets this. It makes your argument weaker if you didn't read the entire story," he says.

"Exactly."

They smile at each other.

"We get off after this stop. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

She rolls her eyes and doesn't say anything.

**

The venue is stunning, naturally. Paris hasn't seen Lucy since graduation, but Lucy looks radiant in a chiffon, white dress with sapphire studs in her ears and a veil that's definitely been passed down her family for a few generations.

The groom looks mediocre, but Paris finds that beautiful women tend to marry below their league. But he at least looks at Lucy in awe, so he seems to be aware of that.

"You are such a judgmental bitch," Jess mutters in amusement after her last criticism of the groom.

"You're know I'm fucking right. Also, look at those clowns behind him. Do they really think they're going to get with any of the bridesmaids?"

"You know they will. I overheard that the cocktail of choice is Pimms."

Paris gapes. "Do they want the guests to die?" 

"Definitely get fucked up for sure," he agrees. 

The ceremony is beautiful and if Paris had a warmer heart, she would probably tear up. At the reception, everyone from Yale comes up to her. They've read about her in the paper, they know someone who utilized her services, but Paris can't confirm or deny due to HIPAA. 

She fully ignores the Life and Death Brigade people that somehow got invited and the ones that try to talk to her, get the middle finger.

The few people that worked on _The Yale Daily News_ have to imbibe a few cocktails before coming up to her.

"You seem _way_ chiller," Joni slurs.

Paris just smiles nastily because the only thing she can think of is that Joni still seems like a dumbass. 

"Okay, okay, you look _ah-may-zing_ ," Lucy gushes when she eventually comes to Paris and Jess. "And who is this?" Lucy looks Jess up and down.

"This is Jess Mariano, he's a friend –"

" _Wait_ , I _know_ that name," Lucy interrupts, staring deeply into Jess' eyes.

Jess looks to Paris with fear.

"Are you…you're a writer, right? You wrote that book, uh… _fuck_ what was it…" Lucy struggles.

"I've written a couple, so –"

" _Ah_! I got it – _Reason 643_!"

Paris has never seen Jess caught so off-guard. "Uh, yeah…how did you…"

"Oh, well, Fiancé – well, now he's Husband, gotta get used to that! – he like, _loves_ small bookstores and ends up buying these books from small-time authors hoping that one of them will become super famous, so the first prints he has are like, a future investment."

He blinks twice.

Paris pats his arm. She'll explain it later to him.

"Anyway," Lucy starts again. "I read that one and was totally obsessed. The way you write is just incredible. I had him find all your other books. I don't even _like_ sci-fi and I still loved _The Subsect._ "

Jess sends Paris a pointed look before saying, "Thank you," to Lucy. Paris scrunches her nose at him. 

"I would love it if you signed my books – are you around tomorrow? I'm having brunch at Berg'n tomorrow – you have to stop by! Both of you!" Lucy is excitedly grinning.

Jess looks to Paris.

"I'll have to see about my nanny being able to watch the kids –" Paris starts.

"Oh, you can totally bring them! It's child-friendly."

Paris smiles. "Sure."

"I mean it, you really look great. I'm sorry about you and Doyle, but you've clearly upgraded –"

"We're not dating,” Paris interrupts Lucy. “He's a friend."

Lucy gapes and looks to Jess for confirmation, who nods. She pouts. "Bummer. Well, I'm sure it'll drive Doyle nuts, so win-win?"

Jess snorts and Paris elbows him.

"I gotta go – have fun! Oh, wait, wait!" Lucy gasps, grabbing Paris' arm. "Before I go – how is Rory doing? When she told me she was pregnant, I nearly fell to the floor!"

"She's good – baby came early. They're both doing well." Paris takes out her phone and shows her a few pictures.

"They really do look like aliens in the beginning, huh," Lucy says. "Well, hopefully she'll get cuter, which I'm sure she will since Rory is the cutest." She lowers her voice when she asks, "Who's the father?"

"Oh, just an ex," Paris says. "He's not in the picture."

"Hm, shame. Well, thanks for showing me pictures. I'll try to reach out to her after my honeymoon. Thanks for coming and _so_ nice to meet you, Jess!"

"You too."

When Lucy leaves, Jess raises an eyebrow. "Wow."

"She's going to tell everyone that a writer is here and you're now going to be asked questions."

Jess looks despondent, so Paris says, "Come on. Let's dance. Less of a chance of people coming up to you."

He leads the way.

**

"Thanks for coming," Paris says sleepily as they ride in the back of a car back to Manhattan.

"Wasn't bad. But I'm never drinking Pimms again," he says, patting her hand and leaving it on top of hers.

He wasn't the last person to say so – when they go back to Brooklyn the next morning for brunch, kids in toe, it seems half of everyone is hungover.

"Why does everyone look like they're in pain?" Gabriela questions.

"They had too much fun last night," Jess explains.

"You had too much fun last night?"

He smiles in surprise. "Yeah, I did. Your mother seems to have had a perfectly good amount of fun."

It's true, she's not as hungover as the rest of these people. She's also annoyed with everyone outside of the wedding party because it's so… _Brooklyn._

"God, do you see them?" Paris mutters, glaring at a couple with matching black-frame glasses and matching tight skinny jeans. "Look at them."

"Gentrification ruined the borough." He picks up a waffle fry and eats it. "But I love this food hall."

"God, same." She steals one of his.

Jess does end up signing copies of his books for the groom, who actually _gushes_.

"You would think he was more excited about meeting him than getting married," Lucy laughs.

"I can't wait to tell his business partners about this, they'll fucking die," Paris sighs.

"Are you _sure_ you're just friends?” Lucy asks slyly. “Because I mean, the way he's with your kids – who are gorgeous, by the way – he is prime-o daddy material."

"I'm sure."

"Shame – you two looked _very_ cute at the wedding."

Paris shakes her head, inadvertently smiling when Jess looks over Tim's shoulder to see the game he's playing. 

"Well, anyway," Lucy says with a knowing smile. "Give my regards to Rory. Hopefully I'll see you again soon. Or if not, Yale reunion?"

"Definitely."

…Maybe. Paris is still debating on going to the ten-year reunion.

**

A couple of weeks later, the wedding pictures are made available. Paris finds a couple of photos with her and Jess in them, grimacing that they look like they're… _into_ each other, particularly the ones of them dancing.

She searches through the contacts of who was sent the album and finds Rory's address on there. _Fuck._

No, why the fuck is Paris panicking? They're _friends_ , it's _fine_ –

She exhales. Okay. She's not a dumb bitch. Focus. Organize thoughts:

Jess is physically attractive. Paris likes that he's taller than her and how his hand felt big on her lower back as they danced to Etta James. She's fond of his crooked mouth and appreciates that he maintains his beard.

She likes his personality, even if his taste in novels and media do not overlap with hers. She appreciates and understands his need for solitude. She loves how he genuinely cares about her kids. 

And –

Jesus _Fucking_ Christ.

Maybe she is a dumb bitch after all.

**

Paris finally gets to meet Lola Gilmore in the middle of June. Lola's crib has been fashioned into a throne in the town gazebo and Jess' expression when he catches sight of it makes Paris cackle.

It does look stupid, but that's just her.

"Wonder where the blonde is coming from," Paris says when she runs her fingers gently through Lola's dark blonde hair. "Did Paul have any in his family?"

Rory shrugs with a nervous smile. "I don't remember. But I mean, I know my grandma's side had blondes and redheads…and her hair might darken too."

"Well, she's beautiful. Hopefully she doesn't inherit Paul's personality."

Rory laughs, but it's strained.

"Still haven't told him?" Paris asks knowingly.

Rory sighs. "No."

"Well, it's up to you – whenever or if ever you want to. Personally, I think you deserve better." 

When Paris steps out of the gazebo to get a refill of seltzer, she catches Lorelai and Rory talking, their expressions serious.

"What did you say to them?" Jess asks, nodding at the gazebo.

"That she could tell Paul that he's the father whenever she wants? I thought that was like, the supportive, good friend thing to say," Paris answers with a shrug.

Jess snorts and shakes his head before he freezes. He suddenly turns his head toward the diner.

"What is it?"

He brings a hand up and then she can hear it – a car speeding down the street. She winces at the screech as it turns around the corner and –

"No way," Jess says.

It's a Porsche.

Paris finds herself not breathing, thoughts and dormant suspicions falling into place. The lack of details about Rory's time in London outside of her work Naomi Shropshire, the feelings Paris got when she first asked if Rory was going to tell Paul that he was the father –  
_  
God_ , Paris is such a fucking _idiot_.

She doesn't know if Logan Huntzberger had been drinking, but he beelines for Rory and Paris has never seen him so angry.

Rory looks horrified. Embarrassed. Guilty.

Lola's blonde hair will darken her _ass_.

Jess looks to Paris. He reads her in a second. "You had no idea," he surmises.

Paris starts walking away. She can hear Logan screaming – why wasn't he told she was pregnant, _you know it might be mine_ – _look at her, you've seen my baby pictures_ –

Paris exhales sharply and she doesn't know why she's crying. Once she's turned the corner, out of sight from the gazebo, she takes deep breaths, her hands on her hips, staring up at the sky.

Jess' car unlocks and she takes a moment to wipe the tears from under her eyes and straighten her clothes before turning around to see Jess carrying Gabriela and holding Timóteo's hand with his free one.

"Do you need time?" he asks her.

"No."

"Good, we're leaving."

He places Gabriela onto her feet and reminds both kids to put on their seatbelts. She watches him look back and he winces when there's a crash. She doesn't know what Logan knocked over.

"Get in," Jess tells Paris. "Let's get out of this psycho town."

She does what he says and barely remembers to put her own seatbelt on before he's driving out of this _psycho town_.

**

They're on I-95 South when Tim asks to stop soon to use a restroom.

"Get off at Norwalk – there's a restaurant called Barcelona that's amazing. I need food and wine," Paris instructs Jess as she pulls up the restaurant for the address.

They are the first people there, since it had just opened fifteen minutes prior to their arrival.

Jess escorts Tim to the restroom and Gabriela sits next to her at a table. 

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, _filhinha_?"

"Who was the man who was yelling?"

"That was Aunt Rory's boyfriend years before you and Tim were born. He went to Yale with us."

"Why was he so mad?"

"Because he thinks he's entitled to everything."

Gabriela doesn't get it, but she's immediately distracted by Jess and Tim coming back from the restroom.

"Who was that?" Tim demands.

"Aunt Rory's old boyfriend," Gabriela informs him.

Tim looks up at Jess. "Isn't that Uncle Jess?"

Jess raises his eyebrows in amusement.

"He was the first," Paris explains. "The Yelling Man came years later."

Jess snorts. "Not what I'd call him."

"What?"

He shakes his head at her and greets their waiter, taking a menu and peaking at the drinks list, immediately ordering a glass of white Spanish wine. Since Paris isn't driving, she cancels Jess' order and gets a bottle of what he wants.

"Efficient," Jess says.

Paris shrugs as she peruses through the menu. At one point while the kids are looking, Jess mouths, 'blond dick at Yale,' which makes her snort.

By the time they finish eating and she's had almost an entire bottle of wine, she feels less like screaming. She checks her phone, expecting Rory to reach out, but she doesn't.

Later that night when the kids have gone to bed and it's just the two of them in the kitchen, Jess exhales slowly.

"She really didn't tell you anything," he repeats.

"No," she says flatly.

"Nothing – not the affair, his potentially being the father…"

"Nothing."

He exhales again. "I’m sorry."

She clenches her jaw. "I feel like a fucking idiot. And worse? I feel duped. That’s what it really is – I feel like she fucking tricked me. Oh, she can’t come to my son’s preschool graduation because she’s stuck in London working? More like she was too busy working Huntzberger. And all those stupid stories about a _fake friend_ in London? So, she was just replacing him? I’m insulted that she thought I was that dumb and I’m upset that I _am_ , I guess, that dumb."

"You’re not _dumb_ , Paris. Believe me. I mean, why would she lie? She knew exactly what she was doing – if she were honest with you, you would’ve unleashed hell on her, right?"

"You fucking bet I would’ve," Paris half-snarls.

"And she didn’t want to hear it. Because she was going to do what she’s gonna do, and –" he stops himself short, his breath audibly hitching in his throat.

"What?" Paris asks.

Jess swallows, clenches his jaw for a moment. "Nothing. Déjà vu. She wanted to do it even though she objectively knew it to be shitty, so. That was her choice. It’s not a reflection on you."

Paris hates crying, so she’s angry when she feels tears prickling in her eyes.

"Look on the bright side, you won’t have to be godmother to a potential spawn of his."

She smiles a little. At first, she was upset that she wasn't asked to be the godmother since Rory is the godmother of both of her children, but now? Fuck that.

Jess sighs. "I guess the chances of the kid being…Paul’s?...is slim to none."

"Fat chance." She studies his face. "How are you feeling about it?" she ventures.

She expects a quick shutdown, but instead, he furrows his brow in thought. "Disgust? That she was cheating with someone who was engaged. Upset that it was that douchebag. Upset that I know the Rory we know wouldn’t do that. Relieved that I don’t recognize her. Upset that I can't seem to fucking escape this."

She blinks in surprise at his admission. He seems taken aback by it too.

She swallows over a sudden lump in her throat. "Is it worth asking?" she asks quietly.

_Do you still love her?_

He shakes his head slowly.

"You deserve so much better," she insists.

"I know," he says quickly. "You too."

Paris nods. "Yeah. Well. Fuck Rory Gilmore, right?"

Jess smiles at her briefly. "Yeah. Has she called?"

"Nope. But the longer she waits, the longer I'll be icing her out for."

He snorts. "I'll let you know if she reaches out to me about her fucking book."

"Hah!"

It's really not funny when Rory does, in fact, e-mail Jess with a chapter a day later. 

And when Rory does call Paris later that night, she sends her straight to voicemail.

**

They're watching _Better Call Saul_ late on a Tuesday night – Jess has a meeting in the morning and he came up earlier due to finishing his work ahead of schedule. They should go to bed, but Paris is comfortable on the couch next to him, her head resting against his shoulder, his resting on her head.

Her heartbeat has finally settled.

"I really think he looks like Kevin Costner," Jess says for the second time when Jimmy is on screen.

"I'm not arguing with you, except this guy is a better actor."

"You cannot pass judgment on Kevin Costner without seeing _Dances with Wolves_."

"I'm not going to force myself to watch a movie about Native Americans that somehow focuses most of its time on the white man. Come on."

A phone vibrates and she jerks up to check her phone on the table, but the screen is black.

"What time is it?" Paris asks.

"Almost midnight," Jess answers as he pulls out his phone. She sees Jimmy's name on the screen. "Shit."

She quickly sits up and pauses the show and Jess answers with thinly veiled panic, "What's wrong?"

She's relieved when he stops looking scared, but then her stomach drops when he sees him clench his jaw and inhale sharply, looking down at the floor. "Okay," he says quietly. "Just, uh…just let me know when. I'll figure it out. I'll be there." He swallows. "Where's Lily?" Silence. "Okay. Yeah, I'll – I'll check in…okay. Bye." He hangs up.

His phone flashes midnight.


	3. summer: breath tied up in summer's hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer:** Standard disclaimers apply. Lyrics are accredited within the fic. Title is from "Burgh Island" by Ben Howard.

Paris' gaze is steady and patient as Jess struggles to find the words.

He swallows thickly. "Ronnie," he finally manages to say.

Paris exhales, falling back against the sofa. "I'm sorry."

He knew it was coming – of course he knew it was fucking coming. Hell, Ronnie even fucking told him he didn't have a year – why does it still feel like a punch to the chest?

Jess brings a hand to his face. "Lily must be a fucking wreck."

He unlocks his phone and is about to dial her number until Paris gently places a hand over his wrist.

"Give yourself a minute," she tells him.

"I'm fine."

"Take a minute."

He inhales sharply and the tears come fast and hot. " _Fuck._ " He drops his head and covers his eyes with his hand.

"I'm getting you a drink," she tells him. "Stay."

She leaves him and he wipes his face quickly and stares up at the ceiling, forcing himself to _stop crying_.

He takes a few breaths and by the time he's got his emotions in check, Paris is back with a glass of something that she places on the table with a satisfying tap. 

"Drink," she commands.

Jess takes a look at the drink and his eyes widen. "Jesus, this is at least three shots."

She stares at him and he shakes his head, picking up the drink and throwing back very expensive whiskey. He blinks in surprise.

"It's like you don't know me – what did you think it was, Clan MacGregor?" she scoffs.

He snorts.

"I'm sorry," she repeats. "Even though you're prepared, it still feels like it comes out of left field."

"A sports metaphor? I really don't know you."

She rolls her eyes. "Shut up. Do you have a date and time for the funeral?"

"You're not buying my plane ticket."

"I can book it for you with the use of the many points I have," she corrects him with a brief smile.

He looks down at his phone, half expecting Lily to call him hysterically crying, then back to Paris. "What am I supposed to say to her?"

"You don't have to say anything. Just sit there and listen and be there for her as much as you can three-thousand miles away. Will it be awkward for you? Yes. Obviously. But it's better for her. So, you suck it up."

He smiles a little.

"And then I'll be put in the awkward position for you, okay?"

He looks away and rubs his jaw. "I'm sorry, that was –"

"Don't apologize for crying – toxic masculinity is tiring," she interrupts him, annoyed. "You're sad, it's human to have emotions. Do you want me to go into the scientific reason why humans cry when we experience emotions, because I will, and then you'll wish you never complained about it in the first place."

He smiles properly as he flexes his hand, feeling the effects of the alcohol. "Maybe another time."

"I've even dumbed it down for Tim – that conditioning starts early with his dumbass peers, so he needs to learn now that most of what his friends say in school is bullshit."

"I'm sure the re-education is going smoothly."

"There are some difficulties, but I always liked a challenge."

He brings an arm around her shoulders into a half-hug. "Thank you."

She returns the favor and brings an arm around him. "What are friends for if not to emotionally rely on each other?"

"You know we both didn't have many friends. That sounds right, but I don't know for sure."

Paris shrugs his arm off. "Bitch. Go call your step-sister. Silence is golden."

He's overcome by how fond he is of her that he kisses her forehead before getting to his feet.

**

Jess calls Lily and as soon as she picks up with a shaky hello and he says her name, she bursts out crying for a good minute, which makes him teary-eyed.

" _I feel like he was what a grandpa should be,_ " she eventually says.

Maybe. He wouldn't know that.

" _When are you coming?_ "

"Jimmy was going to give me a date and I'll book a ticket. Or Paris will."

Lily sniffles. " _That's nice of her._ "

"Yeah."

He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand.

" _Jess?_ "

"Yeah?"

" _How long can you stay?_ "

"I have a meeting next Monday in New York. Absolute latest I can stay is Sunday night and I can take a red eye."

Lily sighs sadly. " _Okay._ "

Eventually, he promises to speak with her later, when it's not almost two in the morning his time.

Jess has to tell the Truncheon guys about it. He'll have to rearrange his workload and contend with LAX and Lily's unfettered emotions because she was always too honest. He's better equipped to handle it now than he was at eighteen, but still.

He takes Paris' earlier words to heart – _take a minute_.

He puts his phone face-down on the nightstand and goes to sleep.

**

Jess is slow to wake and he realizes once he's able to think in full sentences that his alarm didn't go off.

He opens his eyes to find a few post-its on the side of the nightstand:

_Turned your alarm off!_

_Yes, I know your password._

_You should learn how to not be obvious with your code,_

_or change it every month like I do.  
_  
He picks up his phone and calls Paris.

"You're fucking crazy," Jess says in a rough voice.

" _You were up until two in the morning. And I meant what I wrote – anyone can stalk you, see you input the code, take your phone, and wipe it. Or use the information in there to extort you –_ "

"I'm definitely changing it, Jesus."

" _Good. But you can do it after breakfast. Clementina made frittatas._ "

He hangs up and gets out of bed.

**

Paris at least has the decency to have a cup of coffee ready for Jess at the table.

"Given the lack of messages this morning, I gather you threatened Matthew?" Jess asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Killed two birds with one stone," she answers happily.

He sighs as he sits down.

"I told him if there were any actual emergencies that I'd wake you."

She places a frittata in front of him and sits down across from him. 

"Thank you," he says, picking up a fork. "Working from home?" he questions.

"Debating – Clementina is doing extra since we both leave the city during the summer."

"Does she only go back to Portugal once a year?"

"Two times a year is a given – holidays and summers. Occasionally, she'll go back a third time if there's something happening - a wedding, a baptism"

He nods as he chews. 

She checks her phone and types up a few emails, cursing under her breath. He watches her and smiles briefly.

"You can stay another day if you want," she says without looking up. "Kids would like it. I would like it." She finally looks up and smiles.

He smiles back. "Let me talk to Truncheon."

"Good. I'm going in, then. I need to tear open some assholes and it's best I do these things in person. While I'm gifted in the written word, there's something about the way I verbalize that just drives the message across in just the way I want it."

He really fucking enjoys her.

"Is there a take your friend to work day that I can participate in?" he asks.

She grins.

**

Paris explains the logistics of her job, how she's had to delegate to other directors, whom she respects for the most part. She ensures they have the mental strength and passion that's within her ballpark.

She gives Jess a quick tour of her Dynasty Makers as she calls in associate directors into her office for a meeting. She tells him to sit outside with her secretary and he can hear her in action.

Her secretary – Phoebe – has a notepad in front of her. He thinks it's for taking notes about the meeting, but instead Phoebe writes out certain insults and phrases that Paris' says.

"Sometimes I repackage them," Phoebe admits. "Because she's so fucking good at it."

"I do not want to be at the other end of her wrath," he says after when he thinks he hears a muffled sob.

"No, it's scary, but she has a high standard and there's a reason why we're the best."

" _And_ you _, don't think you're getting off easy because you told me – why the hell did it take you so long to notice in the first place?_ "

"Oh no, George is fucked," Phoebe sighs, going into a few folders on her computer and immediately typing. "Back on probation he goes."

"Really?" Jess asks in disbelief.

"I know Paris, she's probably thinking a month ahead to fire him. This is just the step before. Besides, this isn't his first fuck up. I think she kept him on a little longer since he went to her high school. She's usually not like this."

Paris is still yelling at him.

"So, how long have you known Paris?" Phoebe asks. "You haven't come up since the beginning of the year, but she refers you as an 'old friend.'"

"We lost touch – we first met in high school," Jess explains.

"Oh, wow. So, do you know Rory, then?"

"She's how we met. Rory and I lived in the same town."

"Cool." 

Phoebe focuses back on her work. Jess is rather thrilled with the idea that he can simplify his past without any questions.

He looks over at what she's typing and says, "One-sixty is between Lex and Third, not Third and Second."

She blinks a few times. "Really?"

"Yep."

She double-checks on the internet. "Oh, thanks. How'd you know?"

"Spent most of my childhood in New York before living in CT."

"Wow. I still need to consult a map when I go below Houston."

He fights hard to not wince. 

Eventually, everyone exits the conference room. Paris yells from inside for Phoebe to get her coffee. 

"I'll get it," Jess says to Phoebe. "What does she normally want?"

"Cold brew – splash of cream – venti." Phoebe hands him a credit card. "Thank you."

"Do you want anything?"

"I'd love a frappuccino, but Paris will yell at me for it."

He furrows his brow. "Why?"

She sighs. "Because she knows I'm lactose-sensitive and she's a mom about it. And before you ask, I hate coconut and almond milk."

Jess pats her shoulder and stands up to head out to Starbucks. And he's lucky that there's a local coffee shop nearby, so he can get something for Phoebe.

"You're too nice, what the fuck," Phoebe says in an almost accusatory manner that she definitely picked up from Paris. "How are you single?"

He raises an eyebrow in amusement. "I have a lot of deep-rooted personal issues."

"Don't we fucking all."

"I'll bring this in for her," Jess says, lifting Paris' drink.

"My white knight in a cheap button down."

He barks a laugh before going over to Paris' double-doors and opening one of them. Paris is staring blankly at George, who is upset and stuttering through an excuse. Jess sneaks up behind him and places the drink on her table. She only reacts when George realizes Jess is behind him and proceeds to scream. Then, Paris smiles.

**

"It's oat milk," Jess clarifies as soon as Paris opens her mouth to argue with Phoebe sipping on the drink in her hand.

"Where the fuck do you get oat milk around here?" Paris demands.

"Support local businesses." He slaps the punch card he acquired from the shop on Phoebe's desk.

**

Jess gets word at the end of the day that the funeral is Saturday, so Paris books him a flight and he appreciates her splurging on more leg room.

"Is there someone I can send flowers to or make a donation?" Paris asks as he's gathering his belongings to head back to Philly.

"I'll find out and let you know."

"Alright. Get home safe, text me when you get home," she says, kissing him on the cheek.

"Later."

"And confirm which week in August you're coming out."

"I will."

Jess looks at her and feels…unwilling to leave. Usually he's fine to go back to Philly, even thrilled to be able to go back to his routine, but…

"The kids are flying to LA in mid-July?" he asks.

Paris scoffs. "Yeah."

"Maybe I'll come back up before then. Do a 'Saturday in the Park.'"

Her smile takes him aback. "That would be really great."

Paris' phone buzzes and she checks the screen, her face falling flat, and she silences it.

He's about to guess it being a work call until he remembers that she and Rory aren't speaking still. "You're still freezing her out?" he asks lightly.

"I'm not ready to speak to her." Paris shrugs with forced lightness. "I have other shit to worry about besides her guilt. Besides, as Rihanna famously sang – 'you're only sorry you got caught.' Have you heard from Rory?"

He shakes his head. "Only right after it happened – and it was just a chapter. I haven't gotten any new material from her in a couple of weeks. Can't say I'm upset about it."

Paris nods. "Well. Anyway. Text me when you get home."

"That was _one_ time and blame Chris for it."

"Uh huh, whatever. Bye."

"Bye."

Before he takes off, he sends Paris 'Saturday in the Park' by Chicago since he's not sure she picked up on the reference.

She calls him and says, " _I know the fucking song, dickhead._ " And hangs up.

He laughs and puts the song on as he drives toward West Side Highway.

**

While flying to LA on Friday morning, Jess cleans up the draft of what he's been writing and starts to write an email to Chris and Matthew, but he won't send it. Maybe later, maybe not.

**

Val picks Jess up from the airport.

"I didn't want her driving. And frankly, I needed a break," she admits as they drive to Santa Monica.

"I get it."

She leans back with one hand on the wheel. 

"You're done with classes, right?" he asks.

"No, Tuesday. Fucking sucks. But at least it's been finals and grading, so it's not like she has to really be 'on.'"

"Her kids must know something is wrong."

"Yeah. I told them that she lost someone. They kept coming to me and asking and I threatened to bump their finals down a letter grade if they breathed a word about it or gave her any trouble. Surprisingly, teenagers can have a lot of grace when they fucking try for a minute."

His phone buzzes insistently against his thigh, indicating that it's Doula. He takes out his phone and sighs. "I can't wait for her to get older and she can come to me."

"Who?"

"Doula. I just fucking hate going to Stars Hollow as much as I do."

"Why can't you and your – Liz – take turns with that?"

Jess snorts. "Right."

He brought that up once to Liz and TJ. He hadn't seen Doula in four months because his work was crazy and he couldn't take time out of his schedule to drive three-to-four hours to Connecticut when he needed to be local. He suggested – almost pleaded – for them to just bring her to Philly, but they declined. It's too far for them, they're getting older, and –

 _You don't really have a place to house a young girl_ , Liz had told him and it honestly made him want to scream.

"Jimmy said the cot is yours if you want it," Val says. "That might be preferable to our couch."

"Yeah, I'll just stay with Sasha and Jimmy. But thanks."

(He feels a little guilty about it, but – _give yourself a minute._ )

Sasha hugs Jess upon arrival and Jimmy gives him a nod and that's enough. Lily is out in the yard, petting animals by the time Jess is ready to face her, and even then, she ends up crying on his shoulder.

**

Jess' sleep is all out of whack, so he wakes up almost at the crack of dawn and runs on the boardwalk for almost two hours for something to do, for a means of numbing, but by the time they arrive for the funeral, Jess figures running ten miles doesn't do shit for the immediate emotional baggage.

It's mostly locals or former locals – he recognizes pretty much everyone. And it makes Lily laugh when people who knew him when he was eighteen and seeing him again at thirty-two spurs dramatic reactions.

A little after eleven, a large group of teenagers start flooding the pier, dressed in their best. 

When Lily sees them, she bursts into tears. Val holds her together and manages to convince Lily to string a few words – thanking them for coming all the way from Compton in support. But also questioning how the fuck they found out about the funeral.

"The internet," they all essentially chant.

"This is straight out of an inspirational movie," Jess mutters to Sasha.

"People can be genuinely kind sometimes." She rubs his back for a moment and leaves him be.

Thankfully, since Ronnie wasn't religious, he just has a very reformed rabbi come to the pier and everyone is crammed around and on the merry-go-round to talk about Ronnie.

Jess stands by the exit because it's tight in there and as soon as it ends, he wants a smoke.

Ronnie had told Jess about his life, how he ended up in Santa Monica, thousands of miles from upstate New York where he was born and raised. He's seen the country more than he has or Jimmy or Jack Kerouac.

Afterwards, as people shuffle to Dylan's – an Irish pub a couple of blocks away – Ronnie's son stops Jess from leaving with Lily, Val, Sasha, and Jimmy.

"Can I speak to you for a second?"

Jess nods and gestures for them to go ahead, already dreading the conversation. Jess has only spoken with him twice over the last few years and they run out of things to talk about as soon as they exhaust speaking about Ronnie.

Ronnie's son sighs and rubs his face. "My dad has a box for you."

"Excuse me?" Jess blurts.

"Yeah. It's already – he boxed things months ago, I guess. So, if you want to stop by tomorrow before you head back east to pick it up, you can."

"Are you sure? I don't –" Jess stutters.

"Look. I know my dad loved me, my kids – the locals, but he had a soft spot for you. And I know he had some things that probably only you or Jimmy would appreciate. And given that he never forgave Jimmy for what he did with you…" he trails off.

Jess sighs. "Okay, yeah. I'm taking a red-eye – my flight is at nine."

"Noon okay?"

"Sure."

Jess finds himself tapping his fingers against the front pocket where his cigarettes are. He forces himself to stop. "Your dad meant – means a lot to me. He was…one of the few that was there when I was at my lowest," Jess tells him, the words scraping through his throat, fighting to be held inside his chest.

Ronnie's son has tears in his eyes, but he smiles knowingly. "Thank you."

He pats Jess' shoulder and goes to be with the rest of his family.

Jess stares at the merry-go-round a little longer before going outside and heading outside to smoke.

Even though Jess tries to limit his smoking just to when he drinks, this first, sober hit of smoke eases half the tension he carries in his shoulders.

"I know, it's good, right?"

He exhales smoke and turns around to meet Jimmy's gaze. 

"It never stops being great and you wonder, why the fuck did I quit in the first place?"

"Expensive way to get lung cancer," Jess says. He offers Jimmy a cigarette and tosses him a lighter.

"Thanks." Jimmy takes an impressive pull. "How's it going?"

"Ah, well, you know."

"Right."

Over ten years later, Jimmy still can't start a fucking conversation, but Jess has never been one to help him out. Remnants of Jess' asshole, teenage personality.

"Are you okay? You seem off."

"Like how?" Jess asks, annoyed.

"Like you're in your default state."

Jess glares at him.

"It's like your eighteen all over again," Jimmy points out.

"I'm upset Ronnie's dead and that orange fuck is still alive," Jess says flatly.

"Yeah, well, we're in the worst timeline. I mean, how the fuck does Bowie die?"

Jess still gives Jimmy shit for their first interaction at Luke's, but Jess hasn't had the heart since Bowie died – a shock and a loss to all.

"How's your book coming?"

Jess runs his tongue along his bottom lip before bringing his cigarette back to his mouth. After he's inhaled, exhaled, he says, "I'm writing about me. My life."

"Oh," Jimmy responds, shuffling from one foot to the other. "I see."

"I don't know if I want to publish it."

"Well, why not? You've had an interesting life."

"I don't like people knowing my shit."

"Yeah, but you're inspiring."

Jess ignores that comment. "It's just cathartic right now."

"Okay."

"It has nothing to do with my ex, either. Just because she's writing a book about her life doesn't mean anything."

Jimmy throws his hands up. "I didn't say that. Who's saying that? Not me."

Jess rolls his eyes.

"You're one of the most creative writers I've ever read. I'm sure whatever way you're writing about your life doesn't hold a candle to what she's doing."

Jess looks at Jimmy. Over the years Jimmy hasn't aged very much beyond going greyer in his hair and stubble, a few more laugh lines. Since meeting him, Jess can count on one hand the number of instances he's held serious conversations with Jimmy that didn't leave Jess feeling angry or annoyed or bitter. 

Jess can forgive Jimmy for running away, for acknowledging that he wasn't ready to be a father, but Jess will never forgive Jimmy for knowing that Liz wasn't any better than him and still abandoning Jess to her whims.

"Has she written about you yet?" Jimmy asks.

"No, she's skipped over it. She'll come back to it when she's got the words for it, I guess."

"Have you written about her?"

"She has a page dedicated to her, but she's there in the spaces. But not…it's not like it was. I don't love her like I used to, but I guess I'll always miss that Rory. She's –"

"Not the same? Just like you're not the same?"

Jess exhales smoke sharply. "I still feel the same. Maybe I'm less angry all the goddamn time, but I still recognize myself when I look in the mirror. I don't think she does."

"Well," Jimmy takes a last inhale before dropping his cigarette on the ground and squashing it with his shoe. "Speaking as someone who does and doesn't on any given day, not everyone is capable of being as steady as you." He bends down slowly to pick up the cigarette to throw away.

Jess wants to laugh, but he can't – it feels like his breath is trapped in his lungs. 

"I think when you find the right person, it's going to be someone that you feel won't collapse under the weight of when you find yourself wavering." Jimmy shrugs his shoulders. "Anyway, that's my unnecessary, unwanted input."

Jess nods and exhales slowly so his breath doesn't shake.

Jimmy nods. "I'll see you in the bar."

Jess nods again and focuses out at the water.

**

Dating.

Jess has dated after Rory. Some girls lasted for a couple of weeks, some for months, some just for a night. But he admittedly hasn't opened himself up yet to any of them, even though the sick thing is – he doesn't think he did with Rory very much at all to begin with. 

But maybe that's the thing – he had the opportunity and wanted to do it, but couldn't bring himself to.

**

Jess only stays at the bar for an hour before he's walking back to Sasha's and Jimmy's house and writes like Ernest Hemingway – whiskey sodas all day and all night.

**

At five in the morning, Jess watches the sky lighten and calls Paris.

" _Let me guess – writing?_ " she asks in lieu of a greeting.

"Yeah, on and off. Couldn't sleep."

" _How was it?_ "

"Depressing."

" _Yeah, well that's a given. Is your sister okay? Step, I mean –"_

"It's fine. Sister's a mess. She's never experienced death like this. And I haven't either, this is the closest. And clearly, I'm not handling it well. I've barely slept, I'm still drinking whiskey sodas at five in the morning and I'm smoking again." He rubs his face with his free hand.

" _Well, I'd nip that drinking thing in the bud and maybe stop now, but you can utilize the smoking for a little while._ "

"It's a horrible crutch and fucks with my running, I gotta stop."

" _See, you're getting there. Stop being so hard on yourself. When Nanny died, I stopped eating for three days and ended up passing out. Got a couple of stitches from where I fell. Hence the short hair._ "

He blinks in surprise. "Wait, really? I thought you figured the short hair made you more powerful."

" _It does, but it was primarily because they had to cut my hair short and the lopsidedness drove me crazy._ " Paris sighs. " _Are you writing productively at least?_ "

"Yeah, I haven't thrown anything out yet."

" _Good. Something positive._ "

"Yeah. I, uh – you know I'm writing about…some aspects about my life."

He waits for her to say something.

" _Is this a yesterday thing, or did it start earlier_?" she asks curiously.

"Couple of months ago. It started when I was thinking of neighborhoods in Manhattan to show you and then it just…devolved. I don't know where it's going."

" _Hm. Well, worst case scenario, it's a writing exercise. Best case scenario: sold for a motion picture deal._ "

He laughs. "Yeah, right."

" _It's not ridiculous. Wasn't_ The Subsect _going to be a short film?_ "

"The Recession was a bastard to everyone – studio went under."

" _God, that sucks._ "

"Mhm."

Jess pushes the whiskey away and puts out the cigarette.

"Ronnie left something for me," he says after a minute of silence.

" _Wow. Do you know what it is?_ "

"His son just said _stuff_ , which could mean anything. I'm picking it up in a couple of hours and seeing if I can fly with it, or if I'll need Sasha to ship it for me."

" _I can't believe you're taking a red eye. You truly hate yourself._ "

"I sure do."

She snorts. " _I gotta go – buying last minute things for the children to go for camp._ "

"Please let me visit Tim at camp. I will want to congratulate him in person on the promotion to counselor by the end of the second week."

Paris laughs loudly. " _Pray for me I don't have to contend with morons attempting to reign him in. He should start training now to be the leader I know he's capable of being._ "

"I trust him to run this country better than Trump solely based on your parenting."

" _God, I just need a_ day _in that Oval Office._ "

He laughs a little under his breath. "Bye, Paris."

" _Bye, Jess, get some sleep. Love you._ "

She hangs up before he can jumpstart his brain.

He's not surprised when she calls him back a couple of seconds later.

" _That was a weird reflex, sorry,_ " she states, her tone flat.

He snorts. "It's fine. I've noticed that's a girl thing."

She groans. " _I know. I usually find it annoying, but I've had to get used to it in the divorce saying it to my children. After that, I'm saying that shit to Rory and Lorelai and other people I've known for years. I said it to Phoebe automatically and I wanted to jump in front of oncoming traffic._ "

"It's okay, really," he reassures her, smiling.

" _Obviously I give a shit about you._ "

"Likewise."

" _I mean you're an uncle to my children. It came out of my mouth months ago and they didn't even blink._ "

"I can be an uncle. I, well." He clears his throat. "Yeah."

" _Mhm,_ " she hums knowingly.

"I've been up all night and I'm a little drunk and a little emotional. Please be kind to me."

" _Go to sleep. Bye._ " He can hear the smile in her voice.

" _Eu te amo._ "

" _Look at you learning Portuguese! And you didn't sound awful._ "

"Thank you so much."

" _Tchau._ "

He hangs up and slowly gets to his feet to get ready to pass out for a couple of hours.

**

By the time Jess wakes up, he's pretty hungover, but when he reads over what he wrote the day before, he's actually pretty happy with it.

He's unhappy with Sasha attempting to make breakfast and burning toast twice and got egg shells in the scrambled eggs.

"Can I _please_ make it. I worked in a diner. I know how to make breakfast," Jess whines.

"Jesus, are you going to make it?"

"Not if you continue in this manner."

He eventually gets control of the kitchen and makes the eggs that he wants and starts to feel more human. 

He goes for a walk on the boardwalk and takes pictures of places for Paris – this is the bookstore he went to all the time, this coffee shop used to be a record store that went out of business seven years ago and he still feels the sting of it, this is where he gets coffee that he actually enjoys, this is –

He wishes she were here.

**

The box isn't large, but it's got enough weight to it that Jess has to use both arms to hold it and put it in the trunk of Sasha's car.

He drives to the beach and parks, not allowing himself to pause as he opens the box with his keys, eyes jumping from the small pile of books to a few notebooks, to sketches and knick-knacks. 

He does a cursory inventory for packing purposes, all of which he can thankfully squeeze into his carry-on and a beat-up backpack he finds in a closet in the house.

At around three, he grabs a late lunch with Lily and Val.

"I want to visit you next month," Lily states once they order. "I didn't even get to see Philly when I came to the east coast like five years ago."

He's surprised by the suddenness. "I can't host you in Philly – I still live above the shop."

"You need to re-evaluate that. You can definitely swing a one bedroom now."

He sighs.

"Besides, we're adults," Lily continues. "We can stay in Philly for a couple of days and then go to NYC and –" she gasps. "I want to go to Stars Hollow."

"Lily."

"I need to see it. You don't even have to come. I can find it and go myself."

"I'm not letting you go there by yourself."

"Why?" Lily pouts.

"Because you and Val are lesbians and Val is black. Taylor will have you tailed," Jess states flatly.

"Didn't they have a Pride Parade last year or something? Besides, Val's greatest pleasure is making old white men extremely uncomfortable confronting their own racism." Pause. "Besides, we're gonna be high."

He wants to argue more about it – he doesn't want to go there so soon after Ronnie's funeral, he needs time to recoup, he doesn't want to bump into Rory and have to answer her righteous anger as to why he hasn't responded to her last three emails and text messages.

But Lily is grieving in a way that he isn't and if this will make her happy, then fine.

"Fine."

She squeals in delight. "It's going to be great."

When Lily goes to the bathroom, Jess asks, "Is she gonna be okay? What's with the sudden trip?"

Val shrugs. "Death puts life into perspective. We kept talking about visiting you and finding excuses not to, you know?"

He stares at her. "And…?"

She sighs. "Jimmy and Lily pooled airline points."

"Mhm."

"Are you really swamped with work in the summer?" Val asks.

"Not really. People want to go to the beach and proceed to complain about having to go to Jersey for it and do it anyway."

Val's eyes light up. "Jersey Shore."

"Absolutely fucking not."

Lily comes back and looks between the two of them and groans. "I told you to wait to bring up the Jersey Shore!"

He hides his smile by taking a long drink from his Coke.

**

Before Jess' flight back home, before he has to turn his phone off, he emails Jimmy the rough draft of his book with the request for honesty.

_If anyone is going to get it, it's you._

__

**

From Jimmy:  
 _Publish it._

**

Jess slept through most of the flight, so he's not completely useless when he comes into work. But Chris and Matthew aren't having much of his non-verbal self because they take him out for a late lunch and dangle buying his favorite sub if he doesn't tell them what the hell he's thinking.

"You could've taken the day off – funerals are exhausting without the red eye," Matthew says.

"It's not just that," Jess admits. "I'm thinking about my book."

"Dude, I thought we were making some progress on the 'it's all shit, it needs to be rewritten a third time,' stage."

"That one's on hold. I've been writing something else."

They both stare at him. "You never do that," Matthew says in surprise. "You never stop writing something to write something else."

"Well, there's a first time for everything."

"What is it? What's this one about?"

Jess breathes in through his nose and clenches his jaw in hesitation. "Me."

"Excuse me?" Chris asks after a pause.

"It's not a straightforward autobiography. It's – uh. Weirder than that. And I doubt from a legal perspective it could be published."

"Okay, now I'm really interested," Chris says, eyes glinting. "How far are you-slash-when can we read it?"

"It's not done yet, but it's getting there. I'll send it to you, just…also keep track of how many books that are not in the public domain are featured in there."

"Mentioning them isn't something you sue over," Chris says dismissively.

"I'm not just mentioning them. You'll see what I mean."

"I'm so excited I could die," Matthew states with a wide-eyed stare.

Jess gets his sandwich and even though he feels that typical anxiety when he lets go of what he's written and hands it to Matthew and Chris for their thoughts, he also feels that sense of right, which is a good thing.

**

A couple of hours later when Jess is going through paperwork from the last fiscal year, Matthew creepily comes downstairs and gets in a rolling chair to slide over to him.

"You're being weird," Jess tells him without looking up.

"You need to put down the paperwork and finish that book, stat."

Jess looks up and Matthew's eyes are glassy. "Don't cry for me, Argentina," Jess half-jokes.

Matthew doesn't crack a smile. "Jess, I don't know if this could be published – you have your ten-year-old-self having a full-blown conversation with Jane Austen and then later she's at a bar with you and Charles Bukowski in middle America, not to mention you regularly walk around New York with Dodger and Santiago and the Glass family and like, every fucking character from _On the Road_ shows up after you leave Stars Hollow. It's like –" he stops short, thinking. "It's like fanfiction, but obviously not _Fifty Shades_ bullshit, you're taking copy-righted characters and writing about them, but…you're putting them in your life. They're like us. Real people. For you."

Having it vocalized is very painful and awkward and more revealing than Jess anticipated. The automatic urge to run is there, but Matthew is there, taking him seriously. 

"You guys laugh about being my first friends, but it is true," Jess mutters.

Matthew reaches out and places his hands on either side of Jess' face. "Your brain is a wonder of the world and I'm so grateful to have you in my life."

Jess pulls himself out of Matthew's hold, but brings him in for a brief hug.

"Mariano hug, _score_!"

"Shut up." Jess laughs and pats him on the back, stepping backwards. "You'll send back editing suggestions?"

"Let me marinate with it and I'll get back to you."

"Weirdo." Jess nods up at the ceiling. "Chris is still at it?"

"You know it takes him time to adjust to non-traditional plots."

"His dislike of _Pulp Fiction_ is his greatest character flaw," Jess agrees.

"Tell me about it." Matthew sighs dramatically. "I'm gonna crash. And lie in bed thinking about what you've written for at least an hour, so please finish it."

"I'll do my best."

Matthew mouths _I love you_ and Jess rolls his eyes, turning back toward the paperwork.

"Oh, by the way," Matthew says from the top of the stairs, his body crouched so he can see Jess. "You know that bit in the book where that random character Carlyle pops in whenever you deal with Rory after high school?"

"It's a Raymond Carver character from _Cathedral_ , but yes."

"Yeah, well – do you feel like it's passed yet?"

Jess wets his bottom lip as he thinks. "The full quote is – 'But he understood it was over, and he felt able to let her go. He was sure their life together had happened in the way he said it had. But it was something that had passed. And that passing – though it had seemed impossible, and he'd fought against it – would become a part of him now, too, as surely as anything else he'd ever left behind,'" he recites. "And it's not even about a love like – it's about this nanny that took care of him and his children after Carlyle's wife leaves him. And Mrs. Webster leaves to work at her son's ranch in Oregon because she needs something more now. It's…I keep expecting to have that kind of definitive moment."

And honestly, it's hard when he keeps having moments with her, these quiet realizations like at the party in May that maybe Rory cares more than she lets on when she questions his friendship with Paris in a way that irritates him - _since when, why are you getting so involved_. But what does he fucking know - he obviously doesn't know Rory very much, which is a sad thing to come to terms with when he found it to be a source of comfort.

"You know better than anyone that life doesn't work like that," Matthew says kindly.

"Yeah, but sometimes life can kind of work out like a movie or a book."

Jess thinks about being pushed in a lake, his first kiss with Rory, the first time he ever tried Thai food - aspects of his life that seem movie-like in hindsight. Those dramatic moments, but also the little ones - sharing ice cream with Tim and Gabriela in Philly, watching the sunrise with Paris on the phone and actually feeling hopeful.

"What are books and movies but written and visual representations and dramatizations of the human experience?" Matthew asks, as if he knows exactly what Jess is thinking about.

This is too philosophical for a Tuesday night, and definitely too philosophical for the likes of Jess and Matthew.

"You're annoying," Jess says to lift the mood.

"Representations and dramatizations simplify the complications of living life. It's not always black and white. If you're feeling more so that it's passed than not, then I think that's a win," Matthew finishes with a shrug.

"Then yeah," Jess says, surprised how easily the answer comes. "Yeah."

Matthew beams. "G'night, Jess Mariano."

"Night, Matthew Steinman."

Jess focuses back on his paperwork and catches himself smiling.

Yeah, at the end of the day…it's passed. It seemed impossible, he wanted her back for a long time, but it's in the past along with his fucked-up childhood and his favorite record store on the Venice Beach boardwalk that closed and his first copy of _Nine Stories_. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

**

He sends "Solsbury Hill" to Paris and Lily separately before he goes to sleep.

**

From Lily Kovács:  
 _An absolute banger, but ????  
_  
Paris sends him "I'm Free" by the Who in response and he barks out a laugh.

**

"Okay," Chris says, coming into the kitchen early in the morning with a crazed look in his eyes. "I spent most of the night cross referencing what you have of your book and seeing who has the rights to all the characters – you are a _fucking_ bibliophile and cinephile, more so than I ever thought possible – and frankly, I don't know how it would even begin to work getting the permission –"

"Chris?" Jess interrupts him.

"Yeah?"

"Drink some coffee."

Halfway through breakfast in silence, Chris says. "It's fucking genius. Finish it anyway."

"Noted."

**

After Independence Day, Jess gets confirmation that Lily and Val will be coming to annoy him on July nineteenth. He confirms that they want to spend three days in Philly, two days in New York, and one day in Stars Hollow.

Jess texts Luke that he'll be in Stars Hollow with Lily and Val on the twenty-third and he just gets a thumbs up emoji.

Jess texts Paris about grabbing dinner with them on the twenty-second.

She calls him an hour later.

" _How long are they staying for?_ " she asks.

It takes him about two tries to get the dates right.

" _Where are they staying in New York? If you're going to say a chain, tell them to cancel their reservation and stay at my place._ "

"You know they're young and hot and are going to be going out, right? They'll be crashing into your house at two, three, four in the morning."

" _It'll be fine. They're responsible – they're teachers._ "

He bursts out laughing. "You clearly have never socialized with teachers. They go the hardest. By far."

" _You've clearly never gone out with lawyers or doctors,_ " she counters. " _Just offer it to them._ "

"Fine."

" _So, Stars Hollow?_ " Paris questions in a tone that clearly sounds like she's actually saying _what the actual fuck is wrong with you?  
_  
"I _know._ I'm trying to talk them out of it. And hoping that they'll be jet lagged enough to not want to make that journey."

" _Are you planning on hanging out with them in New York?_ "

"Yeah, I actually have a lunch that Friday, and _yes_ , I was going to stay at your place."

" _And you'd have them stay at a hotel? Shame._ "

"Not everyone loves the Upper West Side," Jess points out. "They may want to be further downtown where all the fun is."

" _Speaking of – I'm scheduling viewings for new abodes. Do you want to come for ones in the twenties? I need someone to convince me that's a viable idea._ "

"Sure, I'll come along. Are the kids still going to be at camp?"

" _Yeah, but they come back Saturday, but Doyle has them until August. So, I don't mind if the girls stay with me. Seriously._ "

"Oh, I was hoping I could see them," he says with a frown.

" _I'll take them for a meal or something, don't worry. Did you figure out a week to go to the Hamptons?_ "

"Uh…" Jess flips through the calendar on his phone for a second and sees the second week of August is free. "I can come the second week – the seventh?"

" _Okay, great. Are you driving?_ "

"Yes, obviously. I'm not taking the fucking Jitney. I've been on enough buses in my lifetime."

" _Ew. That's disgusting._ "

"Snob."

" _Get back to me – I'll make up a room for them that's not yours._ "

"Aw, it's known as my room now?"

" _Obviously. Creature of fucking habit who won't stay in any other room even though I have another room that has a better view of the street and I think I did a better job picking out the tiles in that bathroom,_ " Paris snarks.

"I like the quasi-silence. Also, do you really think I give a shit about tiles?"

" _Fair point._ " She sighs. " _Okay. Just text me when you get to the city. Let yourself in._ "

"Will do. Later."

" _Bye._ "

Jess hangs up and gets back to work.

**

Jess finishes his book an hour before Lily and Val come in. He sends it to Chris, Matthew, and Jimmy before closing out.

There's always a feeling of euphoria that comes with finishing the first draft of something – a high, a sense of accomplishment.

This time, Jess just feels…a calm sort of content. Like he finally satisfied an itch.

**

"Why wasn't I told there was any state within reasonable driving distance that has legal pot?" Lily demands as soon as she walks in the door with her rolling suitcase.

"It's New York versus New Jersey on which state will legalize it first," Matthew adds unnecessarily. "Just ask Chris for a reference."

"You don't smoke?" Lily asks.

Jess laughs.

"Don't," Matthew whispers to him.

"Bad experience?" Val asks innocently.

"Hey, Chris," Jess calls out. "Did Matthew have a bad experience smoking weed?"

Chris laughs loudly from the second floor.

"I need to pee and then I'm hearing this story," Lily announces, running up the stairs.

"It's good though, because we can be the only grounded people together," Jess says to Val.

"Why don't you smoke?" Val asks, curious.

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"The smell takes me _right_ back to being six years old and Liz getting so fucking high that she couldn't stand up or articulate herself and it scared the shit out of me."

Val's eyes bug out of her head. "Jesus Christ, Jess," she exhales at the same time Matthew says, "Whoa, who slipped you some truth serum?"

Jess shrugs. "You can handle it."

It takes a second, but Val smiles.

**

Lily and Val stay at a Marriott and Jess takes them to places that he loved to go to at their age. They run into local artists that are featured at Truncheon and they make friends – exchange Instagram handles, as the kids do – and Lily and Val get their chronic.

"You fucking east coast snobs – Pac was the best – he was a poet, he spoke about real fucking issues in his music, and he had Dre, that piece of shit abuser but the most excellent producer, making his tracks into magic," Lily says rather eloquently despite the fact that she definitely smoked something outside and has had nothing but vodka on ice for the last three hours.

"You're in Philly, it's all about Schoolly D and fucking Jedi Mind Tricks," lawyer Alicia argues.

" _It was all a dream, I used to read Word Up! Magazine, Salt-N-Pepa and Heavy D up in the limousine, hangin' pictures on my wall every Saturday_ Rap Attack, _Mr. Magic, Marley Marl,_ " Val chimes in.

"Don't you need to revoke your west coast status for that claim?" Jess asks.

Everyone gasps at the table. " _You_ know _rap_?"

He looks at them in disbelief. "I grew up in fucking New York in the eighties and nineties. Of course, I do. It's not my favorite, but punk and hip-hop go hand in hand. There are crossovers to be had."

"'Walk This Way,' is such a fucking bop," Lily agrees.

"I can't believe Jess recognizes Biggie lyrics," Alicia says in shock. "This is incredible. I need to tell everyone I know."

Jess rolls his eyes and gets up to get another drink. Preferably a shot.

**

He wakes up to a text from Paris and it's a song by Biggie from his first album. He should question how the fuck she got lawyer Alicia's contact information and also maybe explore her interest in gangster rap, which doesn't make sense at first realization, but then once he thinks about it for more than a second, then it's obvivous.

He sends back "Mo Money Mo Problems" to fuck with her.

Ten minutes later, he hears Diana Ross singing, _I'm coming…_ , the sample blasting from downstairs, and he's not even remotely surprised.

**

Jess had seen Paris recently in the grand scheme of things – they've gone longer, but she's still a sight for sore eyes.

"Where are the kids?" he asks after they kiss each other on the cheek.

"Doyle is being a petty bitch and keeping them _right_ until dinner. Fucking twat."

"Your hair looks nice."

"Yeah?" She brings a hand to it. "Went a little darker – got some lowlights since God knows it's going to bleach in the sun. No need to end up with almost platinum blonde hair, which happened when I went to India after college. Horrible."

Lily and Val want to go to the Museum of Natural History, so Jess hands Lily his spare key to Paris' place, which makes her eyes light up.

"Why do you have a spare –" Lily starts asking excitedly.

"Have fun – make sure you get a picture of the whale," he interrupts her with a fake-cheery grin.

"We're talking about this later," Lily sing-songs.

He flips her off.

Once they're out, Paris says, "So, ready to head downtown?"

"It's fucking Gramercy, geez."

**

"Oh my God," Jess blurts out as they turn the corner and Paris points to the townhouse.

"What?" she asks.

"That's – you know the history of that townhouse, right?" he asks, gesturing to it.

She adjusts her bag higher onto her shoulder as they continue walking. "Former residence of a mayor, who banned pigs from roaming the city and began the planning for the sanitation system – a fucking hero he was. Also, the former home of the founder of HarperCollins, which I know Truncheon hates, but –"

"This was the red brick home on the album cover of _Highway 61 Revisited._ I think I might pass out, and I mean that genuinely."

"Ugh, Bob Dylan?"

"I'll give you props for knowing that, but who hurt you? How do you hate Bob Dylan?"

She rolls her eyes. "His lyrics were great, I'll give you that, but that _voice_ –"

They stop in front of the townhouse and look up.

"You better be chill," she warns him. "Can't be acting like a fanboy in there."

"Matthew will lose his fucking mind. Let me take a picture, please."

"I'll take it. Since it'll look like I'm taking notes on the property." Paris quickly takes out her phone and snaps a few pictures, texting them to Matthew.

Jess' phone immediately starts buzzing.

" _Bob Fucking Dylan –_ " Matthew screeches before Jess hangs up.

"Okay, fine," Jess agrees. 

"Be cool."

"I'm cool."

He doesn't know why Paris gave a shit about looking professional in front of the relator because she looks as young as Lily and also has more than the traditional lobe piercings.

She's also very bright because she immediately pegs Jess as the music fan.

The space is really fucking awesome, but definitely a large downgrade in terms of size and its obvious need of a renovation, but…

"It's so cool," Jess whispers.

"I can't have another property like the one I have, I'm sorry." And to Paris' credit, she actually does sound a little sorry.

Jess maybe pouts a lot.

Paris turns to the relator and says, "I'm sorry, I don't think this is going to work, even though it kills my friend here."

The relator shrugs her shoulders. "That's fair. I just figured since this is one of the five townhouses left around the Park –"

"I know, the historical value is priceless," Paris sighs.

The relator turns to Jess. "Do you want a picture on the stoop?"

"Yes, please." He turns to Paris. "Matthew's gonna seethe with jealousy."

"You're a child. Take your damn picture."

Jess gets his picture mimicking the album cover and he sends it to Matthew and Chris.

From Matthew Steinman:  
_AMAZINGGG._

 __From Chris Alston:  
_This is some seriously white nonsense._

 __From Chris Alston:  
_Blood on the Tracks is the only thing worth listening to anyway._

 __From Jess Mariano:  
_You're a dead man, Chris._

 __From Jess Mariano:  
_But I'm comfortable being far enough away to note that it is his best album._

From Matthew Steinman:  
_It's like I don't even know you people!!!_

Paris looks over his shoulder. "Sometimes he's just so _white_."

"To be fair, part of it has to do with Bob Dylan's Jewish roots."

"Huh. I actually didn't know that. Does that make me less of a Jew?"

"He did change his name from Zimmerman – and he weirdly became a born-again Christian for a while."

"Ew. Fuck the Evangelicals."

They have another appointment in an hour, on Nineteenth Street, so the realtor goes off to do whatever realtors do when they're not showing properties and Jess takes Paris to the Strand.

"It hurts me deeply that you've never been in here," he tells her with a hand on his heart.

"I'm sorry, I'm too busy running a multi-million-dollar company and co-raising my children with my brat of an ex – oh, I just read about this in _The Times –_ "

Jess obviously knows Paris is well-read. She's the only person he knows that has read almost if not all of the books in the Western canon, but she can also thoroughly criticize it in a way that few people can, like can the likes of Neruda and Pushkin even really be defined as 'Western'? But her choices outside of that always take him by surprise.

"Really? I thought you'd wouldn't bother since he should stay in his lane and write short stories," Jess comments.

"I'll give him a chance, it's fine – _oh_ , and this too, perfect beach read."

" _The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo_?"

"It's supposed to be entertaining."

"'Are you not entertained?'" Jess quotes.

" _Gladiator_ , starring Russell Crowe, who won an Oscar in 2001, but should've won for his performance in _A Beautiful Mind_ instead," Paris states matter-of-factly.

"It wasn't a quiz," he reminds her. "But you're correct on both parts."

She does end up getting caught up in book shopping, which Jess likes. He likes watching his friends look for books – they all have a distinct way about searching, which book covers they tend to gravitate towards. In terms of the perfect partner for shopping, Rory Gilmore is always going to hold that title – they both shop the same way to the point where they've split up at the doorway and ended up meeting right in the middle at the same moment.

When he was a kid, he thought that meant everything.

Now –

Jess is holding Paris' four books she's picked out while she inspects some of the rare books on the third floor – a place that he's never been to – a case of 'ignorance is bliss.'

"Look at these Babar drawings. This is amazing," she says in awe.

"Here I am thinking you'd salivate over the _Canterbury Tales_."

"I'd rather get the first editions of _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ and _The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes_ and pay three times as much."

"Do you like all the adaptations of Sherlock, or is it just another aspect of Hollywood being completely unoriginal?"

"Definitely the latter, but I personally feel amazing gratification with the notion that Doyle rolls around in his grave every time humanity puts out another movie or show."

"Spite does make you enjoy things more. Plus, who doesn't love white men spitting over Lucy Liu playing Watson?"

Paris smiles prettily up at him.

"Are you going to get Babar?" He nods to the art. "Your son would love it."

"He really would…"

"I would split it with you if it were closer to a thousand," he offers, "but six is a bit out of my price point."

She stares at him and he's old enough and experienced enough to recognize a moment when he's in one. It should be weird – on paper it's _weird_ – but –

"You'd pay five-hundred?" she asks.

He blinks. "Yeah."

"Okay, let's go."

She takes his free hand and takes him to the nearest associate, informing them that they'll buy the collection of Babar drawings, but they'll have to pick them up after a viewing with a realtor.

When they walk out of the Strand, she loops her arm through his.

**

This second townhouse is really fucking nice. Five floors, elevator, state of the art kitchen, two spare bedrooms, a room for a gym, a room for an office, the backyard is nicer than the one Paris has already.

The thought – that Jess can see himself staying here – is immediate.

But he keeps his mouth shut and watches Paris.

"I'll leave you two to chat," the realtor says with a smug smile on her face.

"Your smug face is just like your sister's, it's crazy," Paris snarks.

The realtor grins and heads out of the top floor studio to the elevator.

Paris turns to Jess. "I love it," she states. "Do you?"

He blinks. "Yeah. It's great. Although the wallpaper in the master bedroom has gotta go."

"Ugh, I know, horrible."

They both look up at the skylight.

"The few times I've walked by places like this, I never in a million years thought I'd stand in one," he admits quietly.

She walks up to him so they're face to face. He meets her gaze steadily.

"Shall we take pictures for the kids?"

"I think so."

She nods, looking around the floor, eyes drifting toward the studio. "I'll put a desk in there for you to write. A nice one. And before you say," her voice changes to a lower tone in a mocking way, " _oh, Paris, don't do that for me, you don't have to, blah, blah,_ " before she changes it back to normal, "I'm saying that I want you to feel like this is a home for you, because it is one, as far as I'm concerned."

His throat swells shut and he can hear his heartbeat in his ears, his face flushing as he tries to find something to say other than _come here_.

"Lost for words?" Paris guesses.

"A little," he struggles to say, rubbing the back of his neck. "Spoken word was never my forte."

"Yeah, I get that."

"You're better than me," he says.

"I'm sure your gift for the written word can translate sometimes. Maybe one day I'll hear it," she teases a little.

Maybe when he figures out what the fuck he's feeling.

**

When they make their way to the second floor, Paris takes a picture from the balcony overlooking the living room, aiming for a picture to capture the grand scale of having a living room with a double height ceiling.

Once she gets it, she places her hands on the railing and looks over in admiration.

"'She wasn't doing a thing that I could see, except standing there, leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together,'" Jess quotes.

She whips her head to look at him for a long moment. "Salinger," she guesses slowly, "but I don't remember the short story."

"'A Girl I Knew.'"

"Right. The only line that stuck out to me when I read it was, well part of it was – 'she was there, and she was the whole city, and that's that.' Loved that. There was something so poetic to me at fifteen about a city turning into a person, like they're so integrated that the city isn't what it is without that person there."

"I took you as anti-Salinger based on _The Catcher in the Rye_ alone," he admits, surprised.

"That book is nasty and _Franny and Zooey_ was too self-indulgent, but his short stories are incredible. He took Hemingway's sparse style, but elevated it." She laughs at his expression before he can school it. "Some things never change."

"And sometimes that's a great thing."

She slowly smiles. "Let's pick up Babar. But first, let's find out when the owners want to leave."

The owners plan on leaving in October – they didn't expect to potentially sell so early. But Paris doesn't have a problem with it, especially since she'll probably have a harder time selling her property.

"Don't worry," the realtor says. "I'll find someone to take your home. I know some eccentrics who like a project."

"If they're a libertarian, they ain't getting it. Note it, Eileen Liu."

The realtor – Eileen – makes a point of writing on her clipboard.

"I'm not sure you can find out someone's political preferences naturally," Jess says after they leave the Strand the second time that day and head uptown via a taxi. 

He tried to get Paris to take the subway, but she vehemently denied it due to the need to transfer at Times Square. He couldn't fault her for that.

"You can tell when someone is a libertarian. They can't help themselves." 

He snorts.

"I'll tell you my theory."

"Please."

He listens to her angrily degrade their bullshit policies and how she sees these men on a regular basis, how they talk about individual liberty and how the government doesn't need to enforce taxes, that people will give what they believe is right – and they always manage to get on their fucking high horse and spout this nonsense.

"I mean, what a load of fucking cock, right?" Paris rants.

The taxi driver snorts.

"See?" she says triumphantly. "He knows it's bullshit."

Jess tips the driver well and when he walks around the taxi to get on the sidewalk, Paris pulls his arm. "I'm not done, you have to hear about this fucking lawyer who seriously lamented about Bloomberg not fucking running in the last election."

"That motherfucker talks about running every fucking time and he doesn't –"

"I _know_. Racist asshole, I mean, it would be –"

"What's this?"

Jess whips his head forward to find Doyle standing in front of the townhouse with Tim and Gabriela a quarter of a block away. Doyle looks indignant.

Paris still has a hold on Jess' arm and he couldn't care less.

"Uncle Jess!" Tim and Gabriela exclaim before running down the steps and toward him.

Jess grins and takes a few steps forward to meet them, bringing them in for a tight hug. "I've missed you guys," he says quietly in their ears.

"Me too, there's so much to tell you," Tim says.

"So much," Gabriela reiterates.

"Are you guys…?" Doyle hisses, suddenly closer than he was before.

"Shut up, Doyle. Get your head out of your you-know-what," Paris snarks. He hears her exhale sharply. "Thank you for bringing them here. I appreciate it," she adds shortly.

Jess lets the kids go.

"Mom said that Lily and Val are here, is it true?" Gabriela asks with wide eyes.

"Yeah, they're just at the Museum of Natural History," Jess tells them. "They're looking forward to seeing you."

Jess glances over at Paris and Doyle, but they seem to now be talking civilly to each other. Which is technically a good thing, even though Jess is annoyed about it. Which he doesn't want to unpack right now.

"Yo! Perfect timing!"

Jess winces a little as he turns around to see Lily and Val coming down Broadway.

He's now chopped liver and the kids run to hug them. After watching them for a few seconds, he's distracted by Paris saying, "You're sharing this _now_?"

Doyle stutters. "Well, I figured you and Jess –"

" _No_ , I said no – and that's not an excuse to _hide_ it, I mean Jesus, Doyle –"

"Hey, Paris," Jess says, moving his hand in a gesture for her to lower the volume of her voice.

Paris nods at him, looking torn between annoyed and upset before focusing back on Doyle. "You _sneaky fuck_ ," she hisses.

Well, that's better.

"I'm just saying it's happening – it's not serious, okay? I'd definitely let you know if it were. There's no staying over or anything with the kids there, I swear," Doyle insists, his arms crossed.

Jess feels like an asshole for thinking it, but he has a hard time seeing Doyle romantically involved with anyone. He also feels for Paris – naturally competitive as she is – who probably wanted to find someone first as a fuck you to him.

"Look," Doyle sighs in defeat, dropping his arms. "Can we not have this argument on the street with our kids a dozen feet away and Mariano looking like a total snack?"

Jess makes a horrified face outside of his control, which makes Paris laugh out loud. "Please don't call me that," he half-begs.

"Don't act like you don't know what you see in the mirror!" Doyle retorts.

"Goodbye, Doyle, the kids will be brought back to you tomorrow!" Jess interrupts him.

Doyle side-eyes Paris, then Jess, and then leaves.

"You are a big snack," Paris tells Jess once Doyle is long gone.

Jess wordlessly picks Paris up bridal style and begins walking uptown as she squawks indignantly. "Come along, children, we're getting burgers and milkshakes!"

" _Put me down right now_!"

"Take it back, then."

Paris stops moving around in his arms and wraps an arm around his shoulders, looking deep into his eyes. "You're not a snack."

"Thank you."

Her face cracks before she can say, "You're a full course meal."

He puts her down and walks away. 

" _Mariano_!"

Paris runs up and grabs hold of his waist and he wraps an arm around her shoulders. He doesn't think anything of it for two blocks until he gets a text from Lily, who's staring daggers at him.

From Lily Kovács:  
_Dude wtf are you doing we need a chat ASAP!!!_

From Jess Mariano:  
_Bad???  
_  
From Lily Kovács:  
_NOT AT ALL._

He turns back and she's grinning from ear to ear He shakes his head and pockets his phone.

**

Later, after dinner, after the kids have gone to bed, Paris has disappeared to her office to call someone in Tokyo for a consultation, Lily comes into Jess' room as he's reading in bed and gets under the covers, staring at him expectantly.

"You're the one that wanted to chat," he reminds her as he drops his book onto his chest.

"Do you realize your own feelings?"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"I mean, do you realize you properly like Paris? Like, make her breakfast on the weekends, fuck each other in the laundry room while the kids watch _Frozen_ , be her arm candy at black tie events, and sharing a bed every night? That kind of like? Dare I say the 'l' word that's not lesbian?"

"Gabriela and Tim don't like _Frozen_ ," Jess counters a little weakly.

"Okay, replace with another Disney movie. Jess – I've never seen you like this with someone. Ever."

He exhales slowly through his nose and bites the inside of his cheek. It snuck up on him – this friendship with Paris, his feelings for her. It's something he hasn't really looked at too closely because it's one of the few relationships in his life that just came so incredibly easy for him that he didn't want to question it.

Now, though, with Lily's blue-gray eyes unnervingly staring at him, he realizes that maybe it's been a really fucking long time, but…

"Laundry room?" he questions.

Lily slowly smiles. "The room can change."

He exhales and rests his head back against the headboard.

"For what it's worth – I think you guys really work. You're both such weird people, but you're a great pair."

He gives her a look. "You're one of the weirdest people I know – you don't have a leg to stand on."

"I know, but I've already found my weirdo and I'm dating her. You need to date yours."

"I dare you to call Paris a weirdo to her face."

Lily sticks her tongue out and scrambles out of bed. "Stars Hollow, baby!"

"Fuck me," Jess whines as Lily cackles.

**

"You're a sucker," Paris informs Jess as she hands him an iced coffee before the drive to Connecticut.

"I'm going to drop them off and not stop and hang out in Woodbridge," he tells her.

"Sure."

"I'm serious!"

**

Obviously, that doesn't happen when Lily and Val both give Jess puppy eyes after he explains his plan to avoid Stars Hollow.

"Don't you want to see Doula?" Val asks with wide eyes.

Jess grimaces. "You two are too alike, fuck off."

So, he ends up in Stars Hollow.

Jess will admit that seeing Val and Lily standing and staring at the town with gobsmacked expressions is kind of hilarious.

"This is out of a picture book," Lily exhales, slowly turning around.

"This is whiter than Melrose Place," Val comments. "Oh wow, Luke's. It's like I'm stepping into a movie."

Lily gasps. "Luke's Diner! Wow!"

Jess smiles a little. "Come on. I can get the owner to get you breakfast."

Lily skips ahead and Val trails after her. Before he walks in, he sees Rory sitting at the counter with the baby in a carriage. 

Jess breathes and steps inside.

"Her eyes, dude," Val mutters quietly under her breath to him.

"Yeah," Jess exhales.

"You're definitely not a local," Rory points out with an amused smile as Lily sits down at the counter, looking around with wide eyes.

"No, I'm visiting." Lily blinks a few times when her gaze lands on Rory. "Hello! I'm Lily! Jess' quasi-stepsister." She shoots a hand out.

Rory blinks a few times herself. "Oh, wow. From – from California?"

"That's right." Lily looks back and beams at Jess.

Rory looks back too and gives him a shy wave.

He nods and walks up to the counter with Val.

Rory looks to Val with a questioning gaze. "Another quasi-stepsister?" she jokes in an awkward way.

"My girlfriend," Lily says, either not picking up on it or just ignoring it. "Val."

Val smiles and says, "Nice to meet you."

Rory nods at her and focuses back on Jess. "I take it you've been busy?" she questions and the way she words it pisses him off, like she's brave for the confrontation.

"We lost someone recently," Jess responds. "Apologies for the lack of a timely response."

Rory winces. "I'm sorry."

He nods.

"If you have time – I don't know how long you're staying here…I have some of your chapters written," Rory stutters, biting her bottom lip.

Obviously, the day had to come, and at one point in April, he could've sworn that she was deliberately skipping around him, but now…

He's human – he's curious – he wants to read it.

"Uh, yeah, let me just – take these two through the town."

"Take your time – I was gonna head home anyway." Rory peaks into the carriage and Lola seems to be awake and content. "Luke's is one of the few places where she doesn't make a fuss. Mom swears it's the smell of coffee and fries."

"Makes her a true Gilmore," Jess points out lightly.

There's a joke to be made about potential expensive taste, but he refrains because he's a good guy.

"I think so," she agrees, her smile a little awkward, like she can read his train of thoughts.

"Is Luke here?"

"Yeah, he went upstairs."

"Thanks." He nods at Val and Lily. "Come on, children, you can meet my uncle."

Lily gasps. "Yes!"

Jess leans forward to check the muffins in the glass container.

"There's a blueberry crumble in there," Rory points out.

Jess looks back at Val. "It's damn good."

"Stop it, Jess, you're pulling my arm," Val complains as she skips to the counter and removes the glass case, plucking the muffin out. "Seriously, you're basically forcing this into my mouth." Val unwraps part of the muffin and takes a large bite. "I mean seriously," she says while chewing. "You're killing me."

He reaches over to break off a piece of the top and pop it in his mouth before leading them behind the counter and up the stairs.

Once they're all the top of the stairs, Lily murmurs, "So, Rory Gilmore."

"Yup." Jess knocks on the door. "Luke, it's me."

"She's very pretty."

Jess hums noncommittally and is grateful that Luke opens the door quickly.

"Hey, I didn't know you were coming into town," Luke exclaims.

"I definitely told you a couple of days ago that I would be in the area."

"No, you didn't."

"I did. Do you want to check your phone?"

Lily coughs.

"This is Lily and this is Val, her girlfriend," Jess introduces unceremoniously.

Luke's eyes bug out of his head. "Wow! Uh, wow, come in!" He steps to the side and lets Lily and Val walk inside. Jess tries to dodge Luke on his way in, but he still gets hit in the back of the head.

"So, Jimmy is your…step-father, right? Not biological –" Luke trails off. 

"No, yeah – he didn't donate half of my genes. But he's my dad. He's been there since my mom met him."

Luke smiles a little painfully.

"So," Lily transitions without skipping a beat. "You must tell me embarrassing stories about Jess."

"I was never embarrassing," Jess says.

"You put a girl in the closet," Luke reminds him.

"Jess!" Lily exclaims.

"She willingly jumped in there – like I said, I didn't care if you saw us."

"I forgot how much an asshole you were."

Jess shoots Lily a 'fuck you' smile.

"Wait," she says slowly. "Do _you_ have any baby pictures?"

"For fuck's sake." Jess hangs his head in defeat.

**

"I know that Jimmy is your father – it's actually scary how similar your tastes in books and music are – but seeing Luke was _such_ a mindfuck," Lily says once they leave the diner.

Jess takes a glance back at the diner. "Hm."

"Similar temperaments," Val agrees.

Jess pushes forward with the tour – showing the shops, the video store that is somehow still in business, Miss Patty's dance school, Al's Pancake World – which Lily really got a kick out of – and the bridge.

"Oh, this is your spot," Lily immediately realizes. "It's nice." She takes out her phone and gives it to Val, who unlocks her phone and switches between portrait and landscape a few times, contemplating as Lily walks to the middle of the bridge.

There are a lot of memories here – he's generally avoided coming here for his own mental health. While there are some good ones, the bad ones stick out more and leave him angry.

He shuts his eyes and tilts his head up to enjoy the warmth of the sun.

His phone buzzes in the pattern indicating that it's Paris.

He unlocks it blindly and brings the phone to his ear. "I'm trying to be zen in the Hollow and you are ruining it."

" _But why are you trying to be zen in_ Stars Hollow _? What gives?_ "

"Lily begged me and Val threatened me with Doula. And now they both owe me."

" _I take it you bumped into her._ "

"Yep."

" _Wants you to read her book?_ "

Jess opens his eyes and finds Lily and Val on the bridge, taking pictures together.

"She's written about me," he still says quietly.

" _Fucking sucked you in,_ " Paris concludes.

"Tell me about it."

" _I want full details later._ "

"Whom else am I gonna kvetch to?"

" _You're goddamn right._ "

"You are the one who knocks."

" _Honestly, I'd rewatch that series. I think you realize what an asshole he probably was from day one. And I'll still think Jesse Pinkman is a little bitch._ "

"You're goddamn right."

She laughs. " _Bye._ "

"Later."

"How's Paris?" Lily calls out from the other end of the bridge.

"How the hell did you know it was her?" he asks.

"I can tell by your face."

He hates that response enough to not ask her to delve into it.

"Oh, grow up. You like her. Get a grip."

"Nice to say to someone who's giving you a tour of this crappy little town."

"You're not done yet – you still have to take us to meet your half-sister before you meet Rory, and by then you'll be wishing you were with us."

Lily and Val smile at the same time.

"I don't like you two conspiring against me. It's mean."

"Grow up," they say at the same time.

**

Doula is out of the sun by the pool and is wearing a t-shirt that's sticking to her wet suit, so she might already have burned her shoulders and chest.

She brightens when she sees Jess. "Hey!"

"Hey." He gestures to Lily. "My step-sister, Lily."

Doula's jaw drops comically. "Oh my _God_!" 

They squeal in that really horrible pitch that only girls and women seem capable of reaching and they hug. It's surreal to see them together when he's so used to thinking of his sisters on opposite coasts, but it's nice.

"God, you have amazing skin," Lily says, bringing a hand to Dee's face. "I miss my youth."

"You're twenty-five, jackass," Jess drawls.

Lily makes a face at him. "You should go. I want to spend time with my…" she trails off, brow furrowed in thought. "I don't think we're technically anything." She looks to Doula, as if she'd know.

"We share a brother…so…sort of…sisters?" Doula suggests with a disbelieving shrug.

Lily pulls her in for a hug. "I will be honored." She turns to Val. "This is my girlfriend, Val."

"Are you a model?" Doula asks seriously. "You're so pretty."

Val laughs. "No, just a math teacher. But thank you."

"Seriously, leave the girls to bond. Go help Rory with her dumb book."

Val snorts and Doula gasps and Jess kind of wants to laugh about it.

"I shouldn't be more than an hour," he promises.

"I'll call you after an hour to save you," Lily tells him.

Jess brings a hand behind her head to kiss her on the forehead. "Redemption."

**

Jess hates how nervous he is the closer he gets to Rory's house. Obviously, what she writes has to end on a somewhat positive note, right? They do get along. Well, maybe not as well as her and Logan, but –

When Rory answers the door, Jess asks in lieu of a greeting, "How's Dean-o?"

She snorts. "Living in Scranton with his wife and now four children. I see him from time to time in town when he visits his parents."

"Still seven feet tall?"

"Just about. You know, I actually saw him a couple of months ago during the holidays and he found out you wrote books – I don't know who told him – but he said he'd try to grab a copy of one of them."

Jess does not like the idea of Dean touching his books – _dirty_ – but Jess doubts Dean will get most of them, so at least Dean Forester will not like Jess Mariano's writing.

"So…come in?" She steps to the side so he can come in.

He lets her lead him to her bedroom where her laptop is open to her draft. 

When he first started reading it, Rory told him that Lorelai reacted badly at first, forbidding her from writing about their lives. Jess reads the first sentence of his introduction and understands why.

It has a few of his finest moments, but she tries to be kind, like she's done with everyone.

At one point though, she diverges into an analogy that Jess is like a funhouse mirror version of herself – they were both raised by teen moms, no fathers (well, almost no fathers), one in a small town, one in a big city, one actually giving a shit, the other –

"Rory."

"Yeah?"

He clenches his jaw briefly. "You gotta change this part."

"What?" she comes close, a hand on his shoulder. He inadvertently curls his hand on his leg into a fist to stop himself from shrugging her off. He moves the cursor so it hovers over the section.

She makes a disappointed noise in the back of her throat. "What? Why? What's wrong with it – it's true!"

"Liz is going to be reading this. Everyone in town is going to be reading this."

"Yeah, so?"

"You can't say this about her."

Rory raises her eyebrows. "Seriously? Everyone knows she shipped you here – she abandoned you."

"She shipped me here because I was out of control and angry and difficult. That's the narrative," he corrects her in a clipped tone.

"It's a false narrative! Is it so bad setting the record straight? Your mom was terrible!"

"And what do you know about that?" Jess asks sharply. "You're just assuming."

"It's a pretty damn good guess to me."

He stands up from the computer to properly face her. "Get rid of it, Rory."

"No – it's the truth, and it showcases our relationship –"

"My life isn't a series of tropes for you to assign as an explanation for why we had what we had," he snaps. "If you publish this, it'll devastate her. And if she breaks, then all that goddamn progress she made over the last twelve years will go down the toilet. And I'll be fucking _damned_ if she pulls half the shit she did on me to Doula."

Her stunned expression infuriates him.

"And for the record, Doula doesn't know anything."

"Why not? She should –"

"She should be a kid and not have to think about her older half-brother eating cereal every day for two weeks when he was her age because there was no money for anything other than rent – oh don't you fucking dare pity me."

Rory flushes, but to her credit she doesn't look away. "You never told me any of it. At all. You were evasive, or –"

"I couldn't talk about it then, obviously. I don't like talking about it now."

She shrugs in an _I give up_ gesture. "So, what? I can write honestly about everyone else except you? That's not the point of this – this is my story – "

Jess feels like he got slapped in the face, but she's ranting about this is _it_ , her chance, this book is meant to be –

"Well, might as well cut me out and pretend that I don't exist. You're already good at that, right?" he says quietly when she finally lets him get a word in.

" _You're_ the one that left _every time_ ," Rory yells.

"Well, guess I'm going to stay on theme then." He leaves her room.

"Are you _joking_ right now?" He hears her following after him. "What are you, a teenager? Let's talk about this like adults."

He stops and turns to face her. "Leave out details about Liz – I haven't asked you for a damn thing, I'm asking for this, _please_."

She's unfazed. "I'm not censoring who you are in my book. God, you can't even call her your mom – you still call her Liz after all these years."

"I don't have to explain myself to you. Aren't we friends?"

She opens her mouth, closes it, and ah, there it is, isn't it?

Jess smiles without amusement. "Bye, Rory." He pauses as he turns around. "Hm. I guess you're right – that word can be stupid and lame. But there it is, I guess."

He leaves the house because he's not interested in her reaction to throwing her fourteen-year-old words back at her.

**

He planned on walking back to the pool, to try to find the girls, but instead he finds himself standing in front of Doula's house. Liz's car is in the driveway, TJ's isn't.

He knocks.

" _Coming_!" he hears through the door, Liz's voice always grating to him.

Liz answers the door with magnifying goggles resting on her forehead and wire cutters in hand. Out of all her misadventures, jewelry making seems to have stuck. 

She blinks a few times in surprise. "Oh, wow! Hi, Jess! What a surprise. What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?" he asks instead of answering.

Stunned silence.

"Yeah, yeah, of course."

He usually avoids coming inside unless it's to make a beeline for Doula's room. The clashing furniture and decor makes his head hurt. "Where's TJ?"

"He's helping a buddy in Woodbridge with his deck. I'm sure they're failing miserably at it."

"Ah."

They sit in an awkward silence.

"What are you doing here?" Liz asks, almost kindly.

"Jimmy's adopted daughter and her girlfriend dragged my ass here. They wanted to see Stars Hollow. Ended up helping Rory with her book."

"Ah, yes. Stars Hollow is very excited about it. Including me – I'm very excited, mostly for Lorelai's part. I get it, you know, the struggles of teenage motherhood."

He nods, his jaw clenching as an automatic means of keeping his mouth shut.

"How's it going? You don't have to spoil it – just, how's it looking?"

He looks to her and he sees who she was so many years ago, superimposed over who she is now. That'll never be the dominant feature, no matter how much time has passed.

"She's written about me."

"Oh, well, you knew that was going to happen. You broke her heart."

"She broke mine." It comes out like word vomit, like it's a counter-attack.

Liz stares at him, almost assigning blame to him.

He could argue Rory was breaking his heart before he even had a chance to do the same in return, but he doesn't have the patience and Liz has probably set on her opinion on Jess And Rory, even though she had never been involved in the first place.

"She's written about you," he adds.

"Really?" Liz asks, almost honored.

"In relation to me. In comparison to her upbringing," he clarifies flatly.

She blinks a few times. "Oh."

He lets her sit with it for a little.

"I've been better though…right?"

She has – obviously. Doula isn't like him in the least.

He doesn't say anything.

He can see her heart breaking behind her eyes before she asks, "Will you ever forgive me?"

But she must know his answer before he can formulate a response.

"I can't. I can't give that to you," he says, his voice hoarse.

Her face crumples, but she thankfully doesn't cry. She doesn't apologize – she never has. She never will. It's a level of responsibility she'll never be ready to accept.

It still feels like a sucker punch to the stomach. 

"I gotta go. Can I take you to Lorelai?" he asks, avoiding her gaze.

It takes Liz a minute to say, "Yeah, okay."

He takes her car and he drives the five minutes to the inn. He makes sure Lorelai knows Liz is there before leaving. But he almost groans when Lorelai quickly walks over to Liz's car.

"Uh, is everything okay?" Lorelai asks.

"I was the bad guy and upset her, so she could use the company."

Lorelai narrows her eyes. "Try again."

"Why, isn't that good enough?"

"Not now, it isn't."

He inhales and exhales sharply. "I've proven a point."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that whatever the hell Rory writes about Liz will fall back on her and I won't put Doula's wellbeing at risk. If that means Rory whitewashing Liz, then fine."

Lorelai stares at him long enough to make him uncomfortable.

"Was it really that bad?" she asks quietly.

He stares back.

"No," he lies.

To her credit, her face twitches before she schools it, nodding at him and crossing her arms. "Thanks for bringing her over."

"Mhm."

Lorelai looks back at her inn and then at him. "She may not apologize, but I will. I'm sorry."

He'd argue with her if he wasn't so tired. He nods once. "I gotta go."

"Okay, yeah. I'll see you soon."

Jess drives the car back to Doula's house and parks it. 

The car is relatively clean – there are random things on the floor that are from the Renaissance circuit, like ribbons and plastic flowers and a pair of weird shoes.

His eyes shift to the glove compartment and he opens it. The registration paperwork is there, an EZ Pass, and a mini bottle of vodka.

He doesn't know how long he stares at it, his heart pounding, a ringing noise in his ears, but eventually, he takes his phone out and calls TJ.

" _Yo, Jess, is everything okay?_ " TJ asks. Jess doesn't think they've ever spoken on the phone.

"I found a small bottle of vodka in Liz's glove compartment," Jess says quietly.

Silence.

" _There's no alcohol in the house, Jess,_ " TJ insists with a rare seriousness.

"Yeah, well, she usually finds a way."

" _Shit._ "

"Liz is at the inn right now. But I need her in treatment today."

He hears TJ sigh on the other line. " _Let me get home – I have some places on hand in case this were to happen, but I don't know if it can be today, is the thing._ "

Jess pockets the bottle and gets out of the car, staring up at the house where Doula's room is on the second floor. "I can't have Dee stay with you then. I can't –"

" _She can stay with Luke and Lorelai –_ "

"And have Liz potentially come for her? No fucking way."

" _I can handle it, Jess._ "

"Yeah, well, I can't. Not when it's Doula. Liz could do this shit to me, but not her."

" _You know, she's changed. She's not the person she was._ "

"Yeah, yeah, I'm the fucking asshole who can't get over it, sorry," Jess snaps before forcing his anger down. "Just, let me take Doula for a couple of days until Liz is in treatment, okay? I just don't want her to see Liz's ugliness, not yet."

Jess hears TJ sigh a few times as he thinks. " _Don't be putting thoughts in her head._ "

Jess bites the inside of his cheek. "I'll get Doula to pack a bag. Keep me updated."

" _I will. Hey, uh – why were you in her car anyway?_ "

"Ask Rory. She can tell you." He hangs up and dials Lily's number.

" _Hey, we're still at the pool –_ "

"I need you to bring Doula to her house so she can pack a bag. She's coming back with us. Act excited about it."

He ends the call and searches through Liz's car keys to find the one that opens the front door. While waiting for Lily, Val, and Doula to arrive, he searches through the rest of the house to see if there's any alcohol, including opening up every water bottle in the fridge. He doesn't find any – at least not in any of the usual places she used to hide bottles in their apartments. 

By the time they arrive, Doula is excited and races up the stairs. Val looks around the house with an expression of distaste, but searching. Lily is staring at him.

"I found alcohol in the car. She'll be checked in somewhere. I just don't want Dee here when it happens," Jess says quietly.

"Jesus Christ," Lily exhales.

Jess rubs his face. "I upset her today on top of all of it, so."

"It's a good thing I haven't met that bitch because I'd fucking deck her," Lily threatens before leaving the house. "I work in Compton, I know things!"

"You're from Santa Monica where you kept a back door open," Val reminds her. "But she learned shit from me, I'll take her down," she adds, a steel glint in her eyes. 

Jess loops an arm around Val's shoulders. "East coast, west coast."

"That's right, babe."

Doula comes down the stairs with an overstuffed backpack and a big smile on her face. "Are we going to New York? Or are we going straight to Philly?"

"Uh, hold on…probably New York…" Jess bites back a curse as he takes out his phone and texts Paris.

From Jess Mariano:  
_Coming back to the city with Doula – she can crash in my room and I'll take a couch. Sorry to do this – I'll explain when I get back._

 __From Paris Geller:  
_I'm not letting you give her your room – she can take the nice guest room._

 __He snorts. "New York," he confirms.

He's fucking happy to put Stars Hollow in his rearview mirror and lets Lily control the radio, so Doula doesn't think about the strangeness of this – taking her away from home on such short notice. 

Rory calls him a few times, but he sends her to voicemail. He plans on making sure her emails go to spam. 

He thinks he has a handle on the situation, at least until Paris hands Lily, Val, and Doula a few bills and tells them to get ice cream or _whatever kids over the age of ten like to eat._

"I'll get you something stronger," Paris offers.

"No thanks."

She furrows her brow at him. "Okay, then I'm getting something for me, hold on."

She disappears in the kitchen for a minute before coming out with some orange, fizzy drink. "Come on, let's sit outside."

"What the fuck is that?" he asks, gesturing to the glass.

"Aperol spritz. It's summer. Come on."

They sit outside in the backyard, which he forgets she has solely because he's not used to the concept of anyone having a backyard in Manhattan. 

"Talk." She takes a large sip of her drink.

He wets his bottom lip. "I told Rory to whitewash the shit she wrote about Liz."

"Oh, she didn't like that," Paris guesses.

"Something about ruining her artistic integrity and it being _her_ story."

She narrows her eyes. "She didn't say that."

"I added the artistic integrity bit, but she did insist it was her story," he admits.

He stares at her, watches her drum her fingers against the glass, click her tongue, and drink more. "Question. Answer honestly," she demands.

"Yep."

"Did she write about my upbringing?"

He blinks in surprise. "Referenced it. Absentee parents, mother with an eating disorder, loving nanny."

She nods, lost in thought for a few moments as she continues to sip her drink. "I hate my parents," she starts matter of factly. "Especially my mother. I didn't want her involved in my children's lives. But then Gabriela turned four and my mom reached out with a birthday card and I thought – what the hell. Let's give it a shot," she finishes bitterly before finishing off her drink. "She insulted my daughter within the first hour – saying she could lose weight in her face. I walked out with them and never spoke to her again."

Jess figured as much - the controlling, insulting mother, the way Paris goes through phases of hyperfocusing on her meals and sometimes working out twice in one day. But even he couldn't imagine that kind of disgusting behavior. "Wow." It's dumb, but it's all he can say.

She smiles knowingly at him. "When I look in the mirror I sometimes don't see what I really look like. I have to double-check my clothes to see the sizes because I sometimes see that fifteen-year-old girl wearing a size eight jeans and my mother telling me I look like a stuffed sausage." She swallows. "My point is that I hate my mother and I've cut all ties with her. Rory could write that she was an insult to Judaism and a horrid bitch and I wouldn't care. In fact, I'd get a good chuckle out of it."

He smiles a little.

Her stare back is intense. "You hate your mother, but you can't ever cut ties with her because she's rooted herself into your life with her relationship with Luke and her having Doula, both of whom you love. If Liz is hurt, everyone gets fucked."

He squeezes his eyes shut, the realization, the words out in the open like a shot in the chest. He breathes out. "Fuck."

She rubs his back. "Why is Dee here?"

"I found alcohol in Liz's car," he says, choking a little on the words.

Paris wordlessly rests her head against his. 

"It's my fault – I brought up things I shouldn't have and I told her I couldn't forgive her and –"

"If she had that bottle in her car, that means her issues started way before talking to her a few hours ago. If anything, that was a good thing you did it, because you caught it early. At least you found a bottle in her car and not her intoxicated with Doula in the backseat."

"Now I'm gonna have nightmares," he sighs.

"It seems like shit now, but it's a good thing, in the long run. What does Dee know?"

"Nothing. I have to tell her the bare bones version that doesn't give away anything."

"She's going to find out at some point."

"I know. I just don't want her hating Liz on my behalf."

Paris forces Jess to look at her with a hand on his chin. "I hate her on your behalf. Chris and Matthew hate her on your behalf. Anyone who knows you and knows what a horrible person she was in your childhood would hate her on your behalf. It's normal. What you're going to have to teach Doula, what she'll learn really when she's older, is that it's okay to have conflicting feelings. She can hate her mother for what she put you through, but love her because she's been good to her, right?"

"I just…" he starts, not sure what he wants. He ideally never wants to deal with Liz again. He wishes he could just have Doula in his life and that's it. He wants Rory to take her fucking book and fuck off to London; he's having a hard time remembering what the hell he even liked about her in the first place. He wants – 

He exhales and looks over at her empty drink. "What is an Aperol spritz?"

She drops her hand on his face and pats his shoulder. "Come on, dear, I'll make you one. Or if you want, I can make an Elderflower one."

"Now you're just making things up."

Turns out, she's not – elderflower liqueur exists, but he passes on that. The Aperol spritz is sweet, but he doesn't exactly hate it, especially when he's enjoying it outside with Paris.

"Thanks. For this – everything."

She smiles at him as her phone vibrates on the table. She flips it over to see the screen and it's Rory.

"I've been sending all her calls to voicemail," he tells her. "It's childish, but –"

Paris answers it. "Hey," she greets flatly.

Jess can't hear what Rory is saying, but judging by Paris' unchanging expression, she's not impressed.

"The thing is, you didn't need to see firsthand experience, did you? He told you, he asked you to remove it, and you said no, so. I don't know what to tell you, Rory. If he doesn't want to talk to you, he doesn't have to – not everyone has to be on good terms with you all the time." Paris lifts her legs and crosses them over his thigh. She's wearing Gucci slip-ons that cost more than his entire outfit. He runs a finger over the logo to distract himself.

He then checks his own phone and clears the notifications for Rory's missed calls and sees one from Luke.

He mouths _Luke_ to her before gently lifting her legs off his lap to stand up. Her ankles are soft and he tries not to think about the rest of her skin.

He dials Luke's number as he walks back into the kitchen and waits.

" _You're back in New York?_ " Luke says once he picks up.

"Yeah. Lily took Dee out for ice cream. Gotta think about how I'm telling her. I don't know how familiar she is with mental health issues, so."

Luke sighs. " _Yeah. TJ actually over prepared and already had application packets filled out for all these places, so we just went with the first one that got back to us. They have a bed for her ready on Monday. In the meantime, TJ will stay with her, Lorelai and I will take turns._ "

"She's pissed," Jess states rather than asks.

" _There was some angry denial in the first twenty minutes, but…then Liz admitted to buying the little bottles as a safety measure. Sometimes she bought them just to smell them and she ended up dumping them, sometimes she'd have a sip – she started doing it after one of her friends from the Renaissance circuit died in some freak accident a few weeks ago_."

Jess feels such relief that he almost loses feeling in his legs. "Okay."

" _She's not angry at you. She actually told me to thank you. She said – you always looked out for her more than she did for you. So._ "

Jess brings a hand to his chin, hating how his eyes sting. "Yeah. Uh, I'll stay here and bring Dee back Monday then –"

" _I'll come into the city – you have to go back to Philly. Don't worry about it, Jess._ "

"How are we affording it –"

" _Not your responsibility,_ " Luke interrupts, his tone firm." _TJ and Liz have money saved –_ "

"They can't touch Doula's college fund – Luke, promise me they won't – even if it's –"

" _I'm supplementing the cost so that won't happen. Jess – listen to me – I've got this. You don't need to take care of Liz. That's not your job. It's TJ's, it's mine – it's not on you. Watching Doula now is more than enough._ "

Jess nods because he can't speak anymore.

Paris quietly comes into the kitchen and stands across from him, hopping onto the counter.

" _I know we haven't exactly…talked about Liz much since – well, in a while, but. Next time in person, I should apologize. For a lot of things. It's not your fault._ "

"Don't _Good Will Hunting_ me," Jess warns Luke, even though he has a lump in his throat.

" _Like_ you _could solve a complex math problem_."

Jess snorts.

" _I'll call you tomorrow. Try to take it easy._ "

"Okay." Jess hangs up and tries to take a deep breath. 

"Do you want a hug or do you want me to leave?" she asks.

"I can't have an emotional breakdown until I talk to my sister."

"Do you want to commandeer a floor?" she asks, nodding up at the ceiling.

"I'll take her out. Show her something beyond the theater district."

They both dry heave at the same time. 

(Maybe it's not the end of the world if he does like her.)

**

Jess takes Doula to the Strand. The look of awe and wonder on her face redeems this crappy day. While she's a reader, she's not like him, so after a half hour, they leave the bookstore and start walking deeper into the East Village.

"Can you take me to where you grew up?" Doula asks excitedly.

"We moved around a lot. I can take you to the neighborhood."

So, he takes her to the Lower East Side. It's changed a lot since he grew up in the 80s and 90s, but some places haven't changed – like the record store on Forsyth that allowed him to listen to records all day in return for looking out for shoplifters and reorganizing. The slice place that took care of him when he was really desperate to eat something other than boxed or canned things. The restaurant where he had Thai food for the first time and it blew his mind.

So many things were so ugly about his childhood, but other things saved him.

They're in the Thai restaurant now and they both ordered pad thai with dumplings to start. He has a Coke and she has a Shirley temple.

"Are you going to tell me why you brought me here?" Doula asks directly, her eyes shifting from his face to some space above his shoulder being the only indication that she's nervous.

Jess blinks. 

"I'm not stupid," she continues. "It was weird when Lily and Val said we had to go back to my house and pack and it's like they're trying too hard. And I think you are too. Even though I liked seeing where you grew up. It's so different from Stars Hollow."

He exhales slowly. "So, uh, in the past, your mom used to get…depressed," he starts, wincing. "And she's been good for a while – pretty much since you were born – but with her friend passing away, she's been feeling depressed again. So, in order to get better, she wants to check into a…place where she can speak to someone and just…focus on herself."

Her face falls, which makes him start to panic. "She…she didn't try –"

He realizes in absolute horror that Doula is tearing up. " _No_ , I swear, she didn't hurt herself. She's just trying to get ahead of it," he insists.

It doesn't seem to appease her. "Then why did I have to leave? How long is she going to go away for?"

"Hopefully not long. We thought it would be easier for her to know you were away having a good time and not have to see her leave."

She nods and sniffles. "Oh."

"Your mom will –"

"Why do you do that?" she blurts. " _Your mom_ – she's _our_ mom. Why do you never call her Mom? Nobody else I know calls their mom by their name, it's _weird_."

Oh no. "We don't have a great relationship."

"Well, how can you have one if you don't come visit more often?"

He clenches his jaw. "It's not going to change, Dee."

"You haven't even tried," she argues.

"You can't speak to a situation you don't understand, Doula, let it go," he warns her.

"Then make me understand."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because you have a good relationship with her and you don't need my shit. Stuff. Whatever."

She glares at him. "Everyone says you were a bad kid."

"I was. I've always been honest about that."

"Mom couldn't handle you."

"Nope."

"Or maybe she didn't want to try."

He's at a loss for words. 

Her eyes widen when she realizes she got it right, or at least a very simplified version of the truth. "Oh."

He dumps his lime into Coke to do something that doesn't involve looking at her. "She was a teenager when she had me, but she wasn't like Lorelai. I swear, I will tell you more about it when you're older."

The dumplings arrive, but she just stares at the plate. "That's not fair."

He exhales, reaching to take a dumpling. "No. It's not. But I'm really glad she turned over a new leaf with you. Seriously. I don't want you to lose your – our mom over me and my hang ups."

"In case you forgot, you're my big brother and I love you. Dummy." She takes a dumpling and gets soy sauce on the table when she dunks it. "But Mom will be okay, right?"

"Yeah. If there's one thing we Danes folk have in common is that we tend to be survivors."

She smiles.

**

_Hey –_

_Here's that book about my life I told you about a while ago. I know trying to dissect the legal nightmare of this will probably keep you occupied for a while, but try not to think about that too much._

_I think you'll like one scene in particular._

_\- Jess_

__He sends it to Paris while on the subway back to the Upper West Side.

**

At midnight, Paris comes into Jess' room, gets under the blankets, and immediately starts talking about the Bukowski and Austen scene and he's just struck by her.

(She doesn't leave. He didn't want her to anyway.)

**

After Luke picks Doula up, after Jess hugs Paris and kisses her on the cheek, after he takes Lily and Val back to Philly and after they fly back to LA, Jess goes up to Chris and Matthew and says, "I like Paris."

Matthew slowly stands up and says, "I think he's got it! I think he's got it! By George, he's got it!" He finishes with a shit-eating grin.

Jess stares at Matthew until his smile falters. Then Jess smiles himself.

"Fuck you," Matthew says with a laugh.

"Has anything happened?" Chris asks.

"No. It just came to me. We'll see. I mean, she probably doesn't –"

"Oh, I'm gonna stop you right there. She checks you out regularly. She trusts you with her kids. That's love, bitch."

"I think you're simplifying it."

"I think you're complicating it. Just go with it. You're going for a week in the Hamptons, which is something I'd never thought I'd say in relation to anyone that I know – you're going to be like a real family unit. Who knows what will happen."

Jess is…definitely not trying to think about that.

**

It takes Jess almost four hours to get to East Hampton because traffic on Route 27 is a bitch. He always thought people were exaggerating, but they weren't. It's really bad.

"It's really fucking bad," he tells Paris as soon as he walks inside the house. She's wearing a see-through cover up, her hair windswept and lighter, skin golden tan and cheeks pink as she offers him a cold beer and fuck, he actually loves her.

"I know, I know. Drink your beer, put your bags down. Kids are actually napping – the sun knocked them out." 

He leaves his bags by the door and they go outside to the garden that's so obviously, lovingly maintained by the owners. It's a pity the owners don't let it be a little wild, it could be like the Secret Garden.

"Do not tell me you're responsible for the upkeep of this garden," he laughs after drinking half of his beer.

"No way – the owner pays gardeners and gave me the schedule for the month of August."

"Where are the owners?"

"Europe – apparently they have family in Nice and someone is getting married."

"How nice."

She scrunches her nose at him. "It also has an outdoor shower."

"A _what_?"

She wordlessly stands up and gestures for him to follow her around the house to where the master bedroom is. It's enclosed – he thought it would be wide open, so someone could actually take a real shower outside, which is pretty cool.

"The kids love it."

"I might love it too."

She points behind them. "Hammock."

"No way."

He goes over and struggles to get on it. She laughs at him, but he's just trying not to roll out.

"This is hard, what the hell! Okay, okay, I got it." He sighs as he swings gently from side to side, watching the late afternoon sun stream through the trees above him. "Wow."

She comes up to his side. "You can take a nap too."

He looks up at her. "I don't do naps."

"Okay, baby."

"I'm serious. I don't nap. I never napped. As a child I was the worst in elementary school. I sat and stared at the teacher."

She snorts. "Come on, you're not serious."

"As a heart attack."

She exhales. "Would you like for me to bring you your book?"

"You would do that?"

"It's a limited time offer, going once –"

"Yes, please, thank you, dear."

**

Jess may or may not have dozed in the hammock, but he wasn't going to tell her that. Except the kids come running outside a minute after he wakes and nearly roll him out of the hammock as they scramble to get on, so she probably figured it out.

He has Gabriela on one side and Timóteo on the other. They both got color, but not as much as their mother. She probably keeps them under umbrellas too often to make up the difference in their genetics.

"Can you stay for more than a week?" Tim asks.

"I have to go back to work eventually," Jess answers.

"Do you?"

He snorts. "Unfortunately."

Tim huffs.

"I just got here and you're thinking about my leaving?" Jess teases.

"I just don't like that you visit for so short."

Gabriela vocally agrees.

Jess exhales softly. Is it bad to say that he's beginning to agree?

**

They go out for dinner at an Italian restaurant off Main Street in town. Tim and Gabriela lay out their plans for the week – the beach every day if the weather allows, dinner at a French restaurant in Bridgehampton one night, a pub in Amagansett another night, dinner in the house – Jess is expected to cook. Paris laughs with a glass of wine in hand and heat settles in Jess' stomach.

They drink enough to not feel crazy for ordering three desserts for the table – raspberry sorbet, an apple pastry, and a tiramisu. He thought the kids wouldn't like the tiramisu, but Tim took a liking to it.

Uber and Lyft were banned from the Hamptons for a while, but they're now allowed, which he's grateful for as they're taken home. The kids are easy to go to bed and Paris and Jess split another bottle of wine.

He vaguely considers the notion that the alcohol has eliminated their ability to second guess, which is why when he thinks about kissing her and he thinks she's considering the same, there's no hesitation involved when they meet in the middle, her mouth hot and tasting of wine and raspberries.

It's a jolt to his system, his skin hot and sensitive under his shirt as she presses close. He considers in a distant way to use words, to check in, but that's always taken more effort than this.

She's quick to take off her shirt and he laughs a little when she rushes to pull his off – as if she could do a quicker job than him, even though he gets stuck for a second. She bites his bottom lip and kisses him to shut up.

He drags his mouth to places he's glanced over with his eyes – her neck, her collar bones, her –

"Bed. Now," she demands quietly.

The master bedroom is down a long hallway with its own door. 

"Am I going to see twin girls –" Jess starts to say until Paris interrupts him with, "You better put that mouth to good use besides making film references."

He does eventually.

"Holy _fuck_ ," Paris gasps, which makes him laugh against her inner thigh. She pulls his hair in reprimand and huh, he forgot how much he liked that.

And other things – he hasn't had sex in a few months, almost a year at this point. And neither has she, so it's like they're learning to do it all over again – the awkward fumbling of unbuckling his belt, pushing down his pants and then his boxers. They laugh though – that makes it better. And hotter, honestly.

He waits for that moment for it to feel awkward or weird, but it never comes, even when he settles inside her and she urges him to move in such an obnoxious, Paris way, her heels digging into his back and her fingers combed through his hair, pulling hard, that he bursts out laughing. She laughs too.

But then they stop laughing, eventually. They find a rhythm easily without words – it theoretically should scare him, but instead he feels relief, weirdly enough. The one thing he's tried so hard to do over the last ten years is opening up his fucking mouth and, in the end, he's found someone whom he doesn't have to speak to in order to be understood. The fucking irony.

She says his name in a sigh and he feels her tighten against him as she comes. He follows her and she holds him. Even when he's come down and he's still shaking.

**

"Shouldn't you pee?" Jess asks Paris, poking her arm a few minutes later.

She opens her eyes and stares at him for a few seconds before smiling. "You really do surprise me sometimes." She gets up and walks toward the bathroom. He watches her body illuminated by the moon through the windows.

When she comes back, she says, "Doyle only asked me why I did that when we got engaged."

"To be fair, I only learned about it in my mid-twenties after someone I was seeing at the time woke up the morning after and was so pissed off at herself for not peeing the night before. She got a UTI too."

She grimaces in sympathy. "Well, thanks for the reminder. Remind me to give you a blowjob tomorrow."

" _What_?"

"You saved me some grief. I thought that would be an appropriate thank you," she explains, like this is normal, every day logic.

"You actually need a reminder for that? Do I seem like the person to cash in on a blowjob?"

"I'm definitely a person to cash in on cunnilingus."

He laughs into his pillow.

**

He wakes early along with her. And she's pretty damn wonderful in sunlight too.

**

"So," Paris starts, her breath evening out. "I'm only going to ask this question once and you better be honest. After that, I swear we won't bring it up again unless it's immediately relevant."

Jess nods, smiling a little. "Okay."

"And if you interrupt me I'm kicking you."

"I get it, go."

She looks hesitant. "I know Rory was your first love and it lasted for a while. I get that. I mean, it's Rory. And I know for a while it seemed to me like you don't have feelings anymore. But if you still have feelings for her, you better tell me now."

Jess stares at her. Her hair is sticking up in the back and her cheeks are still flushed. She doesn't seem to have any qualms about covering her chest.

"Okay. So, here's the thing," Jess starts, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling; she's distracting. "We can agree that Rory isn't the same person, right? She's changed."

"Right…"

"I mean, we expect some change at least, but there's something…missing. Or altered, I don't know. Sometimes I see it when she texts me a book rec or comments about some movie we both hate, but I feel like those moments were far and few between."

He chances a glance at her and she's listening.

"But most of the time, I just…don't really feel anything. Sad, I guess. Nostalgic, if we want to be gross about it."

She nods slowly. "Okay, yeah, I get that."

"Since we're being honest and jumping ahead, I don't regret the sex."

The flash of annoyance across her face takes him aback. "I do a little bit - now my standards are so much higher that barely anyone else is going to meet it now. I think we found your love language and you're fucking fluent."

He snorts, relief coursing through his system. "Ah, fuck."

"What?"

"This makes things easier and complicated."

"How does it make it easier?"

"Because I really like your kids and I really like you."

"Okay…why is it complicating it?"

"Because I really like your kids and I really like you."

She blinks in surprise. "Oh. Well. I mean, my kids love you, obviously. And, well, I don't hate you."

He smiles a little.

"I mean…I think we've established that we love each other on a friend level. Like, you're one of my closest friends. And I think you're the best lay I've had, ever. But the romance bit…TBD?" Paris thinks out loud with a shrug. "Like, I'm definitely interested in exploring it more; I'd rather not have it be a one-night thing."

"One night and one morning," he reminds her.

She rolls her eyes. "Thoughts?"

"Same trajectory. Bonus that I actually love your kids."

She smiles brightly. "Do we want to have the logistics conversation now or later?"

"What, the fact that I have a Pennsylvania driver's license and you have a New York one?"

"Pretty much."

He sighs. "Eventually at some point, we're probably going to have to have someone in New York and it's most likely going to be me."

She raises an eyebrow. "Do you not want to live in New York again?"

"Honestly, I haven't really thought about it since nothing in my life was there. I didn't have friends from childhood that I like to see, I traveled for work sometimes, but that was all temporary. I'll always love and hate it. So, yeah, I would. Under the right circumstances."

Now both her eyebrows are up.

"These might be the right circumstances. It's just sooner than I thought. I'll have to talk it over with the guys."

"That's fair."

"Maybe you can help me look for an apartment," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

She narrows her eyes in thought.

"I know what you're thinking," he says immediately. "But I don't know. That's way too fast?"

She shrugs. "Yeah. Okay – you can get an apartment for a year, and if we work out, you move in with me."

"So…that means I'll have to get an apartment pretty close to you."

"Yes. Nonnegotiable."

They'll just have to see about that.

"One last thing," she says, apologetic.

"Paris, it's fine. We're not in school, our lives are complicated – this is a little complicated," he reassures her. He knows what she's going to say anyway – or request really.

She exhales, sitting up in bed. "It can wait until the end of the week when we reevaluate."

He loves how she makes instances that are arguably romantic and a little reckless into pragmatic, sensible actions. Because maybe there's an element of truth to it too – maybe they are sensible, a natural progression that seems impossible and crazy at first glance.

**

There's a level of stealth required going forward. But other than that, for the rest of the week:

Jess makes proper diner-style breakfasts for the kids when they don't want to have those mini boxes of sugar cereal. He'll make Paris something fancier when she doesn't insist on some breakfast smoothie that disgusts him – he never understood the purpose of smoothies. Paris tells him that he sounds like his uncle when he rants about it.

They go to the beach every day and he sneaks glances at Paris as she basks in the sun when the kids are eating hot dogs and fries. He watches them play on the shoreline and he joins them too, even though he's a crap swimmer. A true New Yorker he'll always be, he guesses. He forgets why he hated sand so much.

They risk making out like teenagers in the house. They once risk fucking in the outdoor shower, him still in his bathing suit and shirt when he was lying in the hammock before seeing her walk in with a towel loosely around her body. 

(They don't do it in the laundry room since it's actually a closet.)

He never realized how dark he could really get until it's the end of the week and he can't get over the tan line of his bathing suit.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, lowering his suit a little to stare at the stark difference in skin color.

"I know, I'm impressed too," Paris says with an obvious look down at his dick.

He laughs. "My comment was about my tan line, not my dick." He rolls down the suit to show her. "Look at this."

"Have you never sat in the sun for more than ten minutes?"

"Where was I going to do that? On the sidewalk?" he asks incredulously.

"I mean afterwards – you lived in LA at one point!"

"Fully clothed, usually under something."

She shakes her head and sighs, nudging him so she can stand beside him near the sink to brush her teeth. 

"In terms of people from Stars Hollow – we can wait to tell them. I'm not in a rush to tell Luke," he says. 

She slowly stops brushing her teeth and stares at him through the mirror. She spits in the sink and continues to stare at him. "We're still going to play it by ear?'

He shrugs. "Yeah, I mean. It's great here. Let's see how it is back in our regular lives. But also – I mean – with Rory…I think she should know at some point. If it's from just me, or just you, or us together. Even though I'm still pissed at her – she should be told and not blind sighted by it."

She exhales. "Yeah. I agree. And I think it should come from me. Alone. At least for the reveal. Although I'm sure she'll want to have her own conversation with you."

"Ugh," he groans. The thought of that conversation makes him consider drowning himself in the Atlantic Ocean. "Do you want to shower first?"

"You can – I'm going to do the kids' laundry –"

"I can do that – I have some shit I need to wash anyway."

"You really don't have to –"

"I'm doing it, sorry, dibs."

She looks at him like he's crazy. "You're…calling dibs on the laundry?"

"Yep." He kisses the top of her head and leaves the bathroom. "Enjoy! Think of me!"

He hears her laughter echo in the bathroom as he leaves the master bedroom.

**

Luke calls Jess while he's running to Lois Point in the morning he's going back to Philadelphia.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Jess asks in between deep breaths.

" _Yeah, sorry, I thought I'd catch you before your run._ "

He admittedly had a later start due to Paris. "Overslept."

" _Ah. Well, just wanted to let you know that Liz is doing well. We're going to visit her tomorrow. If you want me to give her any messages._ "

"Nope." Jess is still not ready to touch that yet.

Luke sighs. " _Okay. You go back home today, right? How was it?_ "

Jess smiles. "It was good."

There's a silence on the other end of the phone that almost makes Jess nervous.

" _Good,_ " Luke suddenly responds. " _I don't pretend to understand Paris and I don't think I ever will, but...yeah. It's...good. Your being friends, or...whatever._ "

Jess wets his bottom lip. Is Luke…? "Yeah?"

" _Absolutely,_ " Luke says with certainty. " _You're happy, right? That's all I want._ "

"Yeah." Jess suddenly grins, nodding his head. "I am. I, uh, gotta finish this run, but...I'll speak to you later."

" _Okay, take care, Jess._ "

Jess goes back to his run, unable to stop himself from smiling.

**

Later, Jess hugs Gabriela and Tim tightly, telling him that he loves them. Because that's the actual truth – he loves those kids. Jess loves Timóteo's directness, how Tim tries hard to be like his mom, his openness to music and his passion for colors. He loves Gabriela's sweetness and how she has an inner strength that takes everyone by surprise.

Jess figured at their ages that he'd never have a kid to bring into this shitty world, but now he thinks if he had them, it wouldn't be so bad.

He hugs Paris and kisses her neck. He's not really worried about them and how they'll fare. Even if it doesn't work out come the end of the year, he'll still have her and the kids in his life in some capacity.

"Call me when you get home," she tells him. "And let me know about September."

"I will." 

He gets in his car and honks his horn as leaves, the kids waving from the front porch. He exhales sharply when he turns out of the driveway and loses sight of them.

He puts on _Meeting the Beatles!_ because he's feeling a little happy. When he's stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway, he sends her a few songs from the album.

From Paris Geller:  
_For the record, 'I Saw Her Standing There' is creepy as hell. 'she was just 17 if you know what I mean'? Disgusting._

From Paris Geller:  
_But as Lily would say, it's a banger. NOW FOCUS ON DRIVING I DON'T CARE IF THERE'S BUMPER TO BUMPER TRAFFIC._

He calls her and says, "You don't care if it's bumpa-da-bumpa?" with an affected Brooklyn accent.

She laughs. " _Where are you stuck? The LIE?_ "

"Yeah, I guess there's an accident of sorts. People must stop and stare at the potential carnage."

" _People are sick. The grass is green, the sky is blue, etc._ "

He sighs as he inches forward. "Where are you?"

" _The beach. The kids are in the water. They cried for almost an hour after you left._ "

"Yeah, that's always the worst."

" _I was a little sad as well._ "

"I'm actually really happy," he admits. "I mean, it sucks to leave you guys, but – I just feel like I'm in such a good fucking place."

" _Aw, that's cute. I'm thrilled._ " 

He smiles. 

" _Oh, and me too. Who'd of thought?_ "

Nobody, probably, especially in regards to the two of them. But he's always said it's a crazy world they all live in – a lot of it is bad, but there's some that's pretty damn good.


	4. fall: move on, move on, time is accelerating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Standard disclaimers apply. Lyrics are accredited within the fic. Title is from "Simple Life" by The Weepies.

Technically, the first day of fall is September twenty-second, but Paris has always associated the first day of fall being the first day of school. So, fall begins when she goes over what each kid has in their backpacks, taking pictures of them to commemorate the first day of a new grade - Timóteo in third grade, Gabriela in first - and off they go.

Paris sends the pictures to Doyle because he's in LA for some meeting that she only cares a little about since it's about a potential adaptation of Mark Twain's _Joan of Arc_ , which she never thought possible. She also sends them to Jess because he's in a phone conference that she does actually give a shit about since it will determine if he's actually going to move to New York soon.

Speaking of.

She is beginning the process of packing rooms she doesn't use on her day off. She's already packed up the Good China – the only thing she got from her shitty parents – and now she's wrapping knick-knacks because she doesn't trust anyone to do it. Everything else is being carefully and clearly labeled for movers.

At one point, she gets a call from Jess.

"Hey," she says over crushing paper so she can layer items.

" _What are you doing?_ "

"Packing valuable items. How did it go?"

" _Your boy toy is coming to New York,_ " Matthew half-yells.

" _Can I not be referred to as 'boy toy'?_ " Jess asks. " _But yeah, I'm being partially diverted to help another imprint._ "

Paris is glad she’s on the phone since nobody needs to see her smiling like an idiot. "You're kidding."

" _Nope. I'll be stretched thin, but compensated._ "

" _He's underselling his raise,_ " Chris interrupts.

"Am I on speaker phone with you chuckleheads?" Paris asks, trying to come across as annoyed, but failing.

" _No, they're literally taking the phone from me because they're animals…now you're on speaker phone because I'm tired of it._ "

" _Is this how you speak to your closest friends after finding out we have to live in separate cities?_ " Matthew asks.

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder," Paris and Jess in unison.

" _You guys are dangerous together and we are the victims._ "

"You were always my victim, Matthew."

" _I know, but I felt like I had a chance with Jess on my side._ "

" _Matthew, let's go into another room since they need to actually have an adult conversation._ " Chris says pointedly.

" _Fine,_ Christopher _. Bye, Paris. We should also discuss which holidays we're sharing – dibs on Thanksgiving!_ "

"Byeee," Paris says loudly, extending the syllable. "So, when are you expected here?"

" _October eighth. I won't have time to find a place –_ "

"You can stay with me until you do. I can get Eileen to find a place for you in the meantime."

" _I cannot swing that brokerage fee._ "

"False, you don't _want_ to pay that brokerage fee. Besides, you speak as if I don't have many strings to pull and will have that minimized."

" _Fine. I would very much appreciate it. Are you having Tim's birthday on the fourteenth or the twenty-first?_ "

"Twenty-first. The timing is perfect there. We're painting ceramic items."

" _Great, I can make everyone's holiday gifts and be done with it._ "

"That's the spirit, Ebenezer."

" _Does it count as reclaiming if you reference an anti-Semitic character?_ "

"No, I was just being lazy. Fuck Dickens."

" _You say this shit to hurt me. And I know that's bullshit because_ A Tale of Two Cities _is one of your favorite books._ "

"I can hate the author and love the work."

" _Woody Allen?_ " Jess questions innocently.

Paris hangs up on him.

He calls her back. "Point made," she says when she picks up. "Anyway, how do you feel about moving?"

He sighs. " _Okay, for the most part. I'll miss working primarily at Truncheon, but I'm a little excited to come in and revamp another imprint. It'll be like the good ol' days when I was twenty-one, except now I can afford perishable food and can do a hundred-and-fifty pushups._ "

"Wow, I'm swooning," she says sarcastically, although that is hot.

" _I bet. I could visit in two weeks though. If you and the kids aren't busy._ "

She quickly goes through her calendar. "Yeah, that'll work. Although I already packed up your room, so you'll have to stay in mine."

" _I guess I'll just have to make do._ "

"Mhm."

" _Okay, I'll speak to you later. I need to start preparing everyone for the day-to-day shit that I do here._ "

"Good luck, bye."

" _Later._ "

Paris finishes the rest of the shelving unit, eventually staring at the empty space. How easy it is to pack up a life.

**

Paris got a couple of texts from Rory over the last month – mostly pictures and updates about Lola. Advice on raising an infant. Questions about Tim and Gabriela. They stick to their children and that's about it.

Paris doesn't really care about Rory's personal life right now, and Rory probably doesn’t care about Paris’. They both haven't brought up Jess.

Jess told Paris that when he got back to Philly, Rory had sent Jess a letter – beautifully written, as always – apologizing for what she did and said. She didn't understand, she didn't know, she felt so guilty, she never meant to hurt him or Doula. She thought he was being dramatic.

" _I'm sorry, you must have confused me with another ex-boyfriend who likes to crash parties,_ " Jess had muttered bitterly over the phone in the middle of reading it Paris.

Still, Jess seems to only be capable of keeping baggage originating from Liz and a little bit from Jimmy, so he forgave Rory, even though he declined to read the rest of her book. He'll have to be surprised like everyone else. Besides, he's now too busy with his career to help her.

It's also easier knowing that Liz successfully completed treatment and is back home. He checks in with Doula more regularly now.

Paris sends Jess a couple of pull-out couches to consider having in his apartment for Doula to sleep on when she visits.

It's been an emotionally exhausting couple of weeks, so Paris is ready for the consistent structure that comes with school beginning again.

**

She's at Mount Sinai waiting for one of her surrogates to finish giving birth when she gets a call from Doyle.

" _You'll be getting your adaptation in 2020._ "

"I'm genuinely excited about it,” she answers distractedly.

" _Someone giving birth today?_ "

"Yeah, Evelyn is. This will be her last one."

" _Aw, really? Wow. Time flies – I remember when you found her._ "

"Yeah. She'll get a nice bonus and a glowing recommendation for whatever she chooses to do. Did you figure out when you're coming to New York?"

" _Yeah – two weeks. Are you free for lunch? We can schedule the holidays._ "

"Yeah, I should be. I'll email you dates when I get off the phone."

" _Capital Grille?_ "

An expensive chain that she shamefully loves. They both share the truffle fries. "Works for me."

" _Great. Talk soon._ "

"Bye." 

The timing is perfect because she's greeted by a nurse who tells her that Evelyn has finished and she and the child are safe and well.

She's happy until she realizes she has to go hunting for another surrogate whom she doubts will be as gracious and lovely as Evelyn.

"You're putting me in a shitty position," Paris complains after the adopters leave the room with their new baby daughter.

Evelyn smiles tiredly. "I know. But I'm ready to go to school and be on the other end of this scenario. And now I have the money to do so without any debts. So, thank you."

Paris pats Evelyn's shoulder and sighs. "Do you think you'll have one of your own?"

Evelyn shrugs. "I don't know. It'll be scary, knowing that there's more to go after the baby leaves your body. Not sure if I'm ready for that kind of commitment."

"It's a lot of fucking work," Paris agrees. "I'd recommend babysitting babies for more than a day to see if you can tolerate it."

"I'll keep that in mind." Evelyn smiles at her. "Since I'm no longer an employee…" she starts with a teasing smile. "You've been in a good mood."

"Yeah, I got laid."

Evelyn laughs. "It's a little more than that."

"Maybe. Mum's the word."

"I'm glad. Honestly, you give me hope that one day I might just find a man."

"Because if someone as high-strung and crazy as me can find someone, anyone can?"

Evelyn only smiles. "If someone as brilliant and strong and deeply caring as you can manage to find an equal, then there's hope for those who are lesser."

Paris can't help it – she gets a little teary.

**

The day before Jess arrives, Paris has to tell Clementina that she doesn't have to set up the remaining guest room for Jess, which is a surprisingly awkward conversation to have, especially since Clementina isn't doing a bit to hide her pleased expression.

"Shut up," Paris sighs when she's done talking, bringing a hand to her temple.

"I'm not saying anything."

"Your face is saying too much."

Clementina's smile widens. "He sent me a birthday card in Portuguese. I like him."

Paris didn't know he did that.

"That's why I like him," Clementina adds. "He's good without prompting."

Paris likes that about him too.

**

Jess arrives and is given a hero's welcome.

Paris hugs him and distracts herself from kissing him by telling him all the things that his muscles can do to help expedite the packing process.

"I hope I'll get tipped for stellar services," he jokes.

Paris side eyes him and delights when his face turns a little pink.

"You need to stop utilizing oral sex as monetary value," he hisses at one point when they're alone in the backyard drinking beer while the kids are learning Portuguese.

"It's fun though."

"It makes kind gestures dirty."

She laughs a little as she lifts her legs and crosses them over his thigh. He places a hand on her shin and she shifts in her chair.

"How much of the furniture are you keeping?"

"Most of it. Besides the sofa in the living room – I've been wanting to get something bigger and something that I can easily reupholster."

"You get sick of the fabric?"

She narrows his eyes at him. "You say a word to the kids, I will kill you."

"You're thinking of a dog," he guesses easily.

She gapes at him. He smiles back.

"How –"

"Natural progression of the family unit."

"Fuck off."

"You seriously want a dog?"

She groans. "I'm _thinking_ about it. It would need to be hypoallergenic because I'll be damned if I have dog hair all over my house. And it's a good way for the kids to learn responsibility. Plus, it would satisfy my childhood dream of having a dog."

"You know the dog will inevitably piss and shit on carpet, right?"

"'Call 1-800 STEEMER, Stanley Steemer gets carpet cleaner,'" she recites.

He chokes on his drink and laughs.

"This is another thing that I don't mind spending money on – making sure my house is always spotless." She tilts her head and smiles at him. "Are you doing anything for work while you're here?"

"Conference call that I'm sitting in on tomorrow."

"Great, because I'm having lunch with Doyle to hash out the holidays."

"Where are you going?"

"Capital Grille by Radio City. Do you want to look at the menu and I can bring you something?"

"Looking at the menu prices will give me indigestion."

"Do you want me to pick something out for you and not tell you the price?" she asks only somewhat mockingly.

"Do not buy me something with lobster or filet mignon."

She rolls her eyes. "I'd get you something I know you'd like."

"Oh, I do like both of those things, but eating that for lunch on a weekday seems excessive."

She shakes her head at him. "Lifestyles of the ultra-rich, which you have had access to for a number of months now through me."

"'Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not you could, you didn't stop to think if you should.'"

"Jeff Goldblum, _Jurassic Park,_ 1993, and I preferred the book."

His eyes light up in amusement. "Michael Crichton, really?"

"A genuine loss. _Sphere_ is his best work."

"I'm questioning if I should really get an apartment for a year," he says seriously.

"Maybe just rent a room on a monthly basis."

He drums his fingers against her calf and she really just wants them inside her. 

"I can do that," he says slowly. "I'll ask around."

"Okay."

"Still sharing your bed later?" he asks.

"Yep."

"Good."

"Good?"

He raises an eyebrow and smirks.

"Is it too early to send the kids to bed now?" she asks, staring up at the sky where the sun is high.

"You know we can find a way – we're smart, creative, talented individuals," he says, barely containing a laugh.

"Yeah, but you've only been here for an hour. We can't disappear for a long time."

"I don't need much time."

She raises an eyebrow at his admission. "Is that supposed to be a knock on yourself or some expression of sexual prowess that you'll make me come quickly?"

He laughs. "Why can't it be both? And I wouldn't call it a _knock_ , if anything, it speaks to how attracted I am to you that I can't possibly hold out."

"Smooth, Mariano."

"I'm just trying to get under your skirt."

"How about this: did you work out?"

"I ran – I didn't have time for weights."

"Great. We'll go to the gym together. I should spot you."

"As long as it's not by the mirror."

"Deal." Paris stares at him for a moment. "It's different. Dating someone when you have to contend with kids. It's not as spontaneous or –"

"Paris?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's get physical."

" _Let me hear your body talk, your body talk_ …" Paris recites, lifting her legs off his to walk back to the house. "She got a Grammy nomination for that!" she comments over her shoulder.

"The Grammys are a crock of shit just like the Oscars."

She takes his hand through the doorway back through the kitchen. 

There are plenty of jokes to be had about having sex on a yoga mat, but it ultimately takes the edge off and more importantly, he fits into her life – this life of children and full-time jobs and general adult shit that he doesn't have to deal with – he could find someone without a child, without divorce baggage, who doesn't own property, but. This works. For him and for her.

She's passed waiting for things to feel weird with him, which is good, but she's hoping that the fear will pass too.

**

Paris blinks in surprise when Doyle comes up to the table wearing a nice pair of dark jeans and a fitted cashmere sweater. She checks his shoes and he's wearing sneakers, but they're at least designer.

"You didn't have to dress up for me," she tries to joke, but she's too bewildered. "Did you step through a time machine?"

He laughs a little. "Yeah, I know. I had a meeting with people who don't get the LA look, so I figured a compromise was in order. I forgot how much I loved cashmere."

"You look great."

"Gucci shoes included?"

She rolls her eyes. "Don't push it."

"So, do you want to start scheduling now, or after a drink?"

"I actually want to tell you something first." Paris exhales, suddenly nervous, which is stupid. "I'm seeing Jess. It's new. The kids obviously don't know. Nobody knows except for his friends in Philly and his step-sister in LA. In terms of logistics – he is moving to New York soon for work. He'll be living alone for a year and then we will reassess to determine if we want to continue. If we agree we want to continue, he will move in with me. I'm not sure when to inform the kids, but I was hoping around the holidays. However, I'm open to discussing this with you."

Now Doyle looks shell shocked.

She sips her water and waits impatiently for the waitress to come by to take their drink orders. Is it too aggressive to order a martini while the sun is high in the sky?

He then sighs dramatically in the middle of her consideration. "I knew it was going to happen." He smiles wryly. "Talk about an upgrade, huh?"

She scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous. It's not about upgrades."

"Oh, come on – he could break me with his thighs."

She grimaces at that visual. "We changed, Doyle. Our relationship changed. We weren't getting what we wanted out of it. I was resenting you, you were resenting me. It wasn't what it was."

He looks down at the table and nods. "Yeah."

The waitress comes by. Paris orders a gin martini for herself and an espresso martini for Doyle. Once the waitress leaves, Paris sighs.

"Hey."

He looks up and ugh, he's a little hurt.

"You're one of the most important people in my life. You supported me during the craziest time in my life. You gave me two beautiful children. You're a great father when you're not caught up with work, which yes, I know that makes me a hypocrite. I'll always love you, even when you drive me fucking crazy and I end up hating you sometimes."

He smiles fondly, a little teary-eyed. She guesses they haven’t said anything like that to each other in a long time. "Back at you."

"So…" she trails off expectantly.

He exhales and rubs his face. "I mean – I want you to be happy, obviously. And I hope you want the same for me. You were pissed when I brought up that I was seeing Chloe –"

"You told me on the sidewalk with my children a few feet away without any warning," she reminds him.

He has the decency to look a little guilty. "I got nervous," he admits. "You can be very intimidating, you know. And I thought you and Jess at the time were – well, yeah. But yeah, you're right. I'm sorry."

"Are you still seeing her?"

"Yeah, although she's frustrated by my coming to New York so often." He rolls his eyes and scoffs in a way that takes her right back to the _Yale Daily News_. "I told her this was my life and I wasn't changing it as long as my children lived in New York. So, we'll see."

The waitress arrives with their drinks and offers to take their orders. They both get overly expensive salads.

After she leaves, Doyle asks, "So, I'm the first person in your life who knows about you and Jess?"

"Yeah."

He raises an eyebrow. "What about Rory?"

"I think that conversation requires it to be in person. But we haven't exactly…" Paris stops talking, picking up her martini and taking a generous sip.

"What, you aren't talking?" he guesses, surprised.

"I've honestly been annoyed with her all summer. Ever since Logan crashed her party for Lola, effectively confirming that he's most likely the father." Doyle's jaw drops in response. She nods sympathetically. "I know."

He gasps. "No _way._ "

She nods again. "Yep. I had no fucking idea. She didn't tell me at all – I had no idea she was even _seeing_ the little shitbag."

"Wow."

"I know."

"You know, that makes me angry," he states, matter-of-fact. "She knew so much about our marriage and so much about you, but she couldn't return the damn courtesy." He shakes his head. "This isn't the Rory Gilmore I know and love."

"Yeah," she agrees quietly. "But I'll tell her. I don't know how she'll react, but. It has to be done. And then everyone else can know."

He drinks from his martini. "I don't think we've had such a civilized conversation in months."

"It's because we're now both getting laid," she says dismissively.

He almost chokes on his drink. "Fair point," he coughs. Once he's cleared his throat, he says, "Maybe we could have lunch or something – you, me, Jess. If he's going to be more involved, we should probably get over the residual awkwardness of what happened in March."

" _Really_?" she asks, unable to hide her surprise.

"Yes – that's the adult thing to do, right? Besides, if we're all going to be co-parenting, we should be on the same side. Child angst over divorced parents who make them pick sides? Tiresome."

"Sure, I'll bring it up to him. Schedule it once he's settled."

The waitress arrives with their meals.

"I only wish you were on speaking terms with your mother just so she can see you're dating a bearded Italian man, she would freak the fuck out," Doyle says after a minute of eating in silence.

She nearly spits out her food laughing.

**

From Jess Mariano:  
 _How was lunch?_

From Paris Geller:  
 _Surprisingly, it went really well. It was the friendliest we've been since the divorce._

__From Jess Mariano:  
 _That's good._

From Paris Geller:  
 _He actually asked to have lunch with us…as in together._

__From Jess Mariano:  
 _Que???_

__From Paris Geller:  
 _Hahaha – I know. But it can't hurt. And maybe you'll see why I actually loved the guy in the first place. He actually wore an expensive sweater to lunch. Not a print in sight._

__From Jess Mariano:  
 _It's the pendulum effect – it can't stay at one extreme indefinitely._

From Paris Geller:  
 _Now I know we've been talking too much. What's next? Me masturbating to the works of Jack Kerouac?_

From Jess Mariano:  
 _Now you know I haven't done that since I was eighteen._

__From Paris Geller:  
 _LOL._

__From Paris Geller:  
 _Tell the receptionist to expect a food delivery – I got you a fried chicken sandwich._

__He sends her a gif of Whitney Houston singing "I Will Always Love You" and it takes her by surprise so much that she laughs out loud in the middle of the street.  
 _  
_

**

Paris thinks the most surprising thing about her relationship with Jess – the friendship, the not-friendship – is that he's really made her laugh more than anyone else ever has. And she makes him laugh, and not at her, which is what she's always known her entire life.

It’s really nice to really laugh with someone and not be laughed at.

**

The last week of September into the first day of October is a scramble of Paris and Clementina packing up the children's rooms and the movers boxing the rest of the items around the house that Paris didn't have time to do.

She goes back and forth between the Upper West Side and Gramercy, which is the worst fucking thing she's done in a long damn time. By the time she finally collapses on her new arm chair in the sitting area on the first floor, she almost passes out.

Moving sucks, she never wants to do it again.

"Moving sucks, I never want to do it again," Paris whines to Jess after she showers and gets into bed in her new bedroom with a bottle of Cristal. No glass.

" _I'm sorry I couldn't help –_ "

"It's fine – it was good. I'm sure it's fitting that I do it on my own."

" _It's a lot of fucking work regardless of it being satisfying in a narrative. You don't regret it?_ "

"No, it feels great. Truly. Speaking of great, the great desk I ordered for you is being delivered in four days. I'm excited about it, maybe we can roleplay on it."

" _Never was into that._ "

"That's okay, I really just think fucking on it would be enjoyable," she admits.

He snorts. " _Inspiration strikes._ "

"Exactly." She drinks some champagne. "I figured when you come here I may take your opinion into consideration on a new duvet."

" _Oh,_ really."

"That is, if I find two duvets I like I may allow you to be the deciding factor."

" _You really just want a brick wall that ain't bad looking to bounce off ideas._ "

She smiles. "Perhaps."

" _If I agree to assist, then you have to come to the Lower East Side._ "

"Fine."

" _That was easier than I thought._ "

"As long as the restaurant hasn't had a B rating in its history, I will walk inside it."

" _Gotta start somewhere._ "

She yawns, cracking her jaw in the process.

" _Get some sleep – I'll call you on Tuesday._ "

"If Sarah goes into labor for thirty hours again, you will hear my scream on the wind blowing down the Hudson River which will skip to the Raritan River and then end up on the Delaware."

" _If you need to vent, you can call Chris. He can handle hearing about child birth without screaming._ "

They both sigh at the same time. "Matthew."

"I need to know about his dating history," she insists.

" _Surprisingly tragic. Like, in the traditional sense of the word. His high school girlfriend died of leukemia and his second relationship before I met him ended because she voted for Bush._ "

It takes her a few seconds to react. "Wow."

" _If he ever admits while drunk that he's unclean, it's because he thinks he's forever dirtied by having sex with someone that voted for him._ "

"I'm so tired, but I need to hear the story of how he found that out."

" _It's a good one. Chris says it was the moment when he knew that Matthew was a forever friend._ "

"That's beautiful."

" _Can't wait to see you._ "

"Same here. The kids have a countdown going for you." Mentally she's keeping track as well.

" _The fact that I'll get to see them so often is my favorite part of moving there._ "

"Oh, don't say things like that."

" _Why?_ "

"Because you won't be renting a room for more than a day."

He laughs. " _Bye, Paris._ "

"Bye." She hangs up and notices a notification from Instagram that Rory posted something for the first time in a while: a picture of Lola in a onesie with patches from what seems like every Stars Hollow business. She fights the sudden rush of guilt, needing to remind herself that there's nothing to feel guilty about.

_Nothing_.

She exhales the thought out and takes another long pull from the bottle.

**

Paris wakes up on October second to news of almost sixty people being killed by a gunman in Las Vegas.

From Paris Geller:  
 _Do you think things will change now?!_

Doyle McMaster:  
 _Oh, absolutely. This is a tragedy of epic proportions and will surely convince the federal government that we need stricter gun control. I have complete faith. Heil Trump!_

From Paris Geller:  
 _Hahaha._

__But seriously, it's exhausting. She's burned out. She sends her kids to school with a knot in her stomach that will always come and go until it's addressed.

She goes to work and her staff are somber. Phoebe hasn't slept – she has a friend whose brother was at the show, currently hospitalized.

At one point, Jess calls her, but they don't say much on the phone – it's just nice to pretend he's there. Apparently, a local artist Truncheon works with often went to Vegas and is missing – they can't get in touch with her.

(Later, they find out she managed to run away, but she dropped her phone somewhere in the chaos.)

Sometimes she has to remind herself that these aren't normal times – that while her personal life is hectic and crazy, especially this year, there are bigger, more sinister things happening on the macro level.

"Next time a Republican tweets 'thoughts and prayers,' we're going to a bar," Paris announces once lunchtime hits. She only has to wait twenty minutes before they're all walking outside. 

Phoebe takes a picture of the group giving the middle finger and posts it on her private Instagram with the caption, 'take your thoughts and prayers and shove them up your asses.' Paris allows it since her account is private, she isn't tagged, and she requests the photo to be sent to her.

From Doyle McMaster:  
 _I love your team so much – does Phoebe still like Magnolia's banana pudding even though it wrecks her stomach for her birthday?_

From Paris Geller:  
 _I'd say you should get her a gift card so she has to go through to motions of buying something that's going to hurt her, but she genuinely looks forward to it. So I cannot stop you._

She's a little touched that Doyle plans on continuing his tradition to take care of her secretaries on their birthdays.

And later, she gets a picture from Jess that features everyone from Truncheon along with a few artists and writers in the office doing the same thing, also posted to Truncheon's Instagram.

"I was reassured that they would've given me credit in the caption, but Jess wanted to respect your company's policy," Phoebe tells Paris, even though there was some explanation written in the comments of Truncheon’s post explaining this. 

"It's almost as if Jess cares about me."

Phoebe snorts. " _Maybe._ "

Paris lets them go an hour early and she holds down the fort because sometimes she is capable of kindness in addition to her always paying her staff very well.

" _Question_ ," Jess starts as Paris walks home, because it's a beautiful evening and she wants the extra cardio. She likes that he was going to call later in the week but calls today anyway.

"What?"

" _Phoebe is the longest running secretary you've had, right? It's been over a year._ "

"Yes…"

" _Does she have any plans to move on from the position? I mean, what upward mobility does she have?_ "

"You talking corporate is making me very hot right now," Paris half-jokes.

" _I'll bring Truncheon's accounts payable Excel files to bed next time._ "

She laughs. "I've talked about it with her over the summer – she's enrolled on an online program for IO psych, so I'd promote her to a managerial HR position as soon as she gets her degree." Pause. "That is, if she still wants to work for me."

" _I think if she's willing to work under you while in school, you're safe. She also texted me from her personal phone a few days ago to let me know she will happily check your schedule to ensure that I don't disrupt your work with a call. And she also brought up that her birthday was December seventh, so I'm assuming I need to get her something?_ "

"Doyle gifts her Magnolia Bakery goodies."

" _She's lactose intolerant._ "

She loves that he remembered. "You know that doesn't stop her."

" _Does she use that coffeeshop I found over the summer?_ "

"She does, actually. There are a lot less trips to the restroom."

" _I know you're monitoring from a mothering perspective, but that's still really weird and I hope you don't tell another single soul about it. But that's wonderful she still uses it. Gift card it is._ "

"You've clearly never experienced the hellish nightmare that is hemorrhoids." 

" _My stomach is made of iron. And I also can't give birth._ "

"Well aren't you fucking blessed."

He makes a sympathetic humming noise. " _Sorry. Chris has a sensitive stomach, but Matthew has had them twice and made sure to complain loudly about them, usually in a dramatic, poetic fashion._ "

"Matthew really needs a supportive, patient partner."

" _I know, because otherwise it's going to be Chris and me taking turns in the nursing home._ "

"I'd put him in a ten-thousand dollar a month facility."

" _Excuse me,_ what _?_ "

She sends him a couple of links of assisted facilities in Greenwich, Darien, Northshore – views of the Long Island a given, lobbies as opulent as five-star hotels, and plenty of amenities to keep the elderly entertained.

Paris would personally prefer to be in the comfort of her own home, especially since she can foresee how annoying everyone else living in those facilities would be, but maybe if she had a partner with her, it wouldn't be so unbearable in the instance that living at home isn't feasible.

" _I would be kicked out of here in a week,_ " Jess says after a minute.

"What, why?"

" _Because I would pull pranks to break the monotony and it will offend the tenants._ "

"'Tell me more, tell me more.'"

" _Please tell me you saw that before your great education?_ "

"Before actually – I'm pretty sure my mom imagined John Travolta while in bed with my father."

" _That's disgusting – and – wait – do I want to know_ why –"

"The name John was yelled in ecstasy once, even though my dad's name is Jack."

" _I'm completely lost for words._ "

"Your childhood looking a little brighter now?"

" _Yes!_ " Jess laughs.

"Fuck Scientology," they both say at the same time

**

__

__When Jess finally arrives at the end of the week, Paris and the kids lead him to his office on the top floor, forcing him to keep his eyes shut until the grand reveal.

Timóteo grandly gestures to the desk and Gabriela jumps on her toes in excitement. Jess' face is hard to read – he's surprised, obviously, but he's muting his feelings, judging by his crossed arms, his hand gripping his bicep.

"I think we shocked Uncle Jess," Paris stage whispers to them, even though she's concerned.

Jess takes a few steps toward, reaching out a hand to gently run a hand over the wood. His shoulders tighten, some impulsive response of believing he doesn't deserve it that she'll have to continually work on beating out of him.

"Get over the automatic thought, Mariano," she tells him.

She hears him exhale a laugh before turning to her kids. "This is the best gift I've ever received. Thank you."

They squeal in delight and immediately usher him to sit behind it.

There's a picture taken with Gabriela on Jess' lap and Tim leaning against Jess' arm, beaming, and Paris thinks maybe 'uncle' isn't a good enough name for him.

Later, in her – their – room, she's straddling his lap and looks down at Jess’ face, placing her hands on his cheeks and running down his beard. She never cared for beards, only preferred clean shaven, but Jess takes care of his and she’s obsessed with the beard burn she gets between her legs.

He smiles up at her. "I love my desk."

"You had a moment there."

His smile fades a little. "I know. Sorry. Thanks for the save."

"No problem." She sighs. "Is it worth discussing?"

"Not particularly. Same, old tired shit."

"Yeah, I get that." She pats his cheek. "So –"

He kisses her to shut her up, which she probably would've done within the next five minutes anyway.

**

Paris figures scheduling the lunch with Doyle, Jess, and her before Tim's birthday party would be the most prudent thing. She picks an inoffensive American bistro with a lot of natural light and plants and she ensured from reading reviews that the drinks are strong enough to ease any potential discomfort.

Doyle arrives on time and is wearing distressed jeans, which makes her eye twitch, but he's also wearing a nice cardigan and a pair of loafers that are only a little scuffed. Jess looks hot in a short-sleeve button up that brings out the green in his eyes.

Jess gives him a little bit of a hard time, which she doesn't hate him for, but ultimately, he caves when Doyle starts talking about the book he's beginning to adapt.

"So underrated," Jess says, his eyes alight with excitement. "The context alone in which it was written – I mean Twain renounced Catholicism and hated the French when he wrote this book about a French Catholic martyr? It was a critique of humanity when it's at its absolute worst, but showed us humanity at its best."

"I know, it's so complex it's _amazing_ ," Doyle gushes. "One of my friends in LA is co-writing it with me since I would never be so bold as to think one man could translate this story."

"This friend better be a she," Paris says.

"Her name is Mary and you would like her very much," Doyle snips.

Well, it's not perfect, but they'll get there.

Toward the end of the meal, Doyle says, "Jess can pick up the kids from school if needed."

"I think private schools can smell the dropout on me and don't want to infect the kids," Jess jokes, but she can tell he's a little touched by the gesture.

"They could do with some feather ruffling."

They exchange numbers and shake hands.

When they part ways, Jess concludes, "That went well. So, how do I get on the elusive list of approved adults to pick the children up from school?"

It requires filling out paperwork and a copy of his license. He becomes visibly heartbroken when he realizes that he's going to have to switch his license over at some point.

"My life is a sad story," he sighs.

"Get to the DMV early and bring a book."

He glares at her, but takes her hand as he continues scrolling through the DMV website.

**

Paris calls Rory after some deliberation. She's not surprised when Rory doesn't pick up and eventually reaches her voicemail.

"Hi, Rory. Just checking in. I know these last few months have been a strain, but we've been through too damn much for our friendship to fizzle out. So, I'm reaching out. Hope to speak with you soon."

Paris goes back to work for a couple of hours and is jolted out of working when her phone rings with a call from Rory.

"Hi," Paris greets, her fingers resting over the keys, unable to bring herself to continue working.

" _Hey_."

"Crazy summer."

Rory sighs. " _Tell me about it. Look, Paris, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Logan. I just – I love him. Loved him. I don't know. And I didn't think you'd hear me out. So, I didn't want to hear your thoughts on it._ "

Paris nods. "You made up parts of your life for a long time," she says, proud that she's controlled her rage.

" _I know,_ " Rory groans. " _It just got out of hand. I feel like an idiot. These past few years…I just don't know what I'm doing. But I'm trying to get my life back on track._ "

"Oh?"

" _Yeah. I can tell you about it over brunch? That is – if I'm still invited to Tim's birthday?_ "

Paris furrows her brow. "You're his godmother. Of course you are."

" _Okay, good, I'll find a place and text it to you._ "

"Remember –"

" _I know, A ratings only with no history of a B. That was_ one _time and I_ still _swear I didn't know –_ "

"I still can't eat falafel, you know."

They both laugh a little and Paris feels such relief. She thought maybe it would be too late, that she missed whatever window existed for reconnecting with best friends.

"October twenty-first – the party starts at one, so I'll see you at eleven?"

" _I'll be there._ "

"Lola?"

" _I was going to have Lane watch her, but she said, and I quote – 'you'll miss it when they're this little, so take advantage of it.' It was a strange guilt trip, so she's coming._ "

Sometimes – very few times – Paris feels the same way, mostly because she spent so much of their infancy and pre-toddler days working so much. "It's so much fun when they can talk and their personalities shine through," Paris says instead.

" _I can't wait_ ," Rory sighs. " _But I mean, they're cute when they’re a few months old. Except for the screaming._ "

"They're not cute when they scream at six and eight."

Rory laughs. " _Especially when you know they're doing it on purpose._ "

" _So_ annoying." Paris sighs and looks back at her computer screen. "I'm sorry, I have to finish this and then start combing through applications – my surrogate Evelyn gave birth to her last baby a week ago."

Rory gasps sympathetically. " _Wow, no way. That's a loss._ "

"Yeah, I'll miss her. One of my highest rated surrogates. She wants to go back to school to be a nurse – help give birth. It's very admirable."

" _That is. Maybe she'll help give birth to future surrogates._ "

"You know I'll request her to be present for every delivery, regardless of which hospital she works at."

" _I have no doubt._ " Rory laughs. " _I'll let you go. I really missed you. My life just wasn't the same without Paris in it._ "

"Yeah, likewise," Paris responds softly. "I'll see you next month."

A new anxiety forms in the pit of her stomach – how does she tell her about Jess?

**

The anxiety comes and goes over the next two weeks. Paris is too busy dealing with finishing the move to Gramercy. She's trying to get most if not all of her belongings out of the townhouse in the Upper West Side so she can start showing it to potential buyers again.

Jess utilizes lawyer Alicia's friend in the Bronx, who knows someone in the East Village who is going away for work for six months and is renting out his room that he shares with two guys.

"Please tell me they're clean," Paris begs.

" _I plead the fifth._ "

"You're going to have to shower every time you come to my place. I'm not allowing you to bring that home."

" _I might need to since the plumbing leaves much to be desired._ "

"I might just tell you to fuck the room after a month."

" _I thought you'd say a week, so you've really loosened up._ "

"I haven't shown you my calendar for this month – I'll be lucky to get four hours of sleep a night."

" _Please tell me you're exaggerating_ ," he says, concerned.

"I don't exaggerate. It's lazy describing. Do you think you can pick the kids up today?"

" _Maybe – I'll text Clementina otherwise._ "

"Okay, that's fine."

" _I can make dinner. Stop by Trader Joes._ "

"Ask Clementina what we have so you're not buying extra. Do you know much waste Americans create? It's fucking _nuts_ –"

" _Bring this up with artist Alicia – you can talk about the fashion industry too._ "

"Oh my _God_ –"

" _I gotta go – I have another call coming in. I'll see you later._ "

"Love ya babe," Paris says in a joking manner.

" _I like, love ya too._ "

She hangs up and immediately texts Matthew for artist Alicia's number.

" _Alicia speaking._ "

"I was told to call you in order to have a conversation about food waste and the destructive nature of the fashion industry."

" _Okay, I fucking love you, please come back to Philly soon. Now, where to fucking start?_ "

**

Paris and Rory meet at a traditional breakfast café in Greenwich Village with beautiful decor, generous portions, and enough space between tables for Lola's carriage, so it has a little bit of everything for both of them.

Rory has bags under her eyes that she's muted with concealer, but that's an unfortunate side effect of children that Paris is too familiar with. Otherwise, Rory Gilmore is as pretty as usual.

"You look amazing," Rory sighs as soon as she sits down. "How are you still tan from the summer?"

"I've done some work in my backyard without an umbrella."

"Work is good?"

"Yes, same as always."

"Kids?"

"Timóteo is in the third grade and Gabriela is in the first and they both seem to enjoy it. I don't hate their teachers yet, but it's still early in the year. Lola's good?" Paris reaches over to rub Lola's hand. Lola smiles at Paris.

"Yeah, she's meeting her milestones. She can mimic facial expressions now and it's amazing." 

Rory takes out her phone and shows pictures.

"This is _such_ a you face," Paris laughs, pointing at a picture that shows Lola mimicking Rory's outraged expression.

The waitress finally comes by and asks for drinks. Paris gets a bloody Mary and Rory gets a Bellini.

"I'm thinking of switching to formula. I was going to try to breastfeed for a year, but I'm so sick of it," Rory admits. 

"I only did it for a year for each of my kids because it helped me drop the pregnancy weight and it was one of the few times I managed to get some time in with them while I was working."

"I'm going to wait until the six-month mark and see how it goes." Rory sighs and looks to Paris. "So, I guess I'll go first on the life updates?" she suggests.

"Sure."

Rory takes a breath. "Okay," starts. "I've been doing a ton of thinking about my life and my shifts in priorities and…I've decided…I'm going back to school."

Paris blinks in surprise. "You are?"

"You're so shocked, like you don't have multiple degrees!" Rory laughs.

"I know I do, but you were so insistent that you didn't want to go back to school, that it was a sign of failure."

Rory looks down, embarrassed. "Yeah, that was stupid. I mean, if it weren't for the teachers we had, would we have gotten to where we are, right?"

"Sure…" Paris trails off.

"And, I don't know, over the summer, I started taking in these kids from Stars Hollow High, who were bored and they actually modernized the _Gazette_ \- look at this – " Rory goes on her phone and sends her an Instagram page and the _Stars Hollow Gazette_ in digital form.

Paris scrolls through it and she's shocked how many followers the Instagram account has. Random people commenting about hilarious small-town shenanigans. 

"Wow. Sometimes I think I fantasized this town, but then I see shit like this and I remember, no, this town is crazy." Paris shakes her head and puts her phone away. "Okay, so you're molding the youth and you like it?"

"I love it," Rory insists. "I realized how immature it was for me to crap all over a profession that helped me hone my skills and direct me to what I thought I wanted to do. And I realized that the industry changed. And it wasn't what I thought it was at all. And I kept trying to make it work and I just kept feeling miserable."

"I didn't realize you were _miserable_ ," Paris says with a frown. She figured Rory was a little lost, but not _miserable._

"Fake it 'til you make it."

The waitress comes back with their drinks and they order their meals.

"So, I'll be getting my Masters,” Rory continues after her first sip. “I'm excited about it. I'm actually excited to go back to school. I've already bought all my notebooks and binders and new sets of pens." Rory beams. "I'll be back in my natural element."

Paris smiles. "That's great. I can definitely see you whipping those little shits into shape. Also giving teenage boys uncomfortable fantasies."

Rory grimaces. "Gross." Her expression shifts to one of discomfort. "So…uh. Should I…tell you about Logan?"

Paris doesn't want to fucking hear it. But Rory has apologized and she's here and Paris should make the effort, so she just nods.

Rory clears her throat. "We ran into each other at a hotel bar in London. Naomi had left me in a tizzy and I was so pissed off and I was drinking scotch and there he was.” She smiles briefly. “And we…just wanted to escape our lives. So, we started seeing each other. Even though he was dating Odette and I was seeing Paul and then he got engaged, but that didn't feel real, still."

Paris almost asks if Rory has met Odette, but obviously not because Rory doesn't consider her to be a real person.

Rory sighs. "I don't know. It's complicated." She sips her drink and places it back on the table gently. "I didn't think I'd do something like this again, but…" She winces.

Right. Farm Boy. Whatever.

Paris pushes forward. "What happened after the party?"

Rory picks up her glass. "A lot of bullshit," he says bluntly. "But I haven't really spoken to him. He's sending child support, even though I told him I don't know for sure, but I guess we're both just fooling ourselves. I'm just putting it into Lola's college fund. But it's all just…up in the air."

Paris nods and takes a long drink from her own cocktail. "Hm." Paris hates whatever ‘up in the air’ is supposed to mean and Rory knows it.

"Sometimes I think about what would've happened if I said yes. If I moved to Palo Alto with him. But there's no point in looking back, right?"

Paris has always been a firm fucking believer about that. "Right."

Rory exhales and smiles again. "So, what about you? Is your love life better than mine?"

Their food arrives and Paris finds herself unable to speak.

"Oh my God – did you find someone?" Rory asks excitedly, taking Paris’ silence to be a confirmation. Rory picks up the maple syrup and drenches her stuffed French toast. "Tell me everything – did you actually use an app?"

"I didn't use an app," Paris responds quietly.

"Where did you meet him? Come on!" Rory takes a few large bites of food, chewing excitedly as she waits for Paris to speak.

Paris tries to swallow over the lump in her throat. "I'm, uh, seeing Jess."

Rory blinks a few times, her body otherwise frozen in place. "You…what?"

"I'm seeing Jess. It's…very recent."

"Oh…" Rory slowly puts down her fork, her face curiously blank. "When?"

"After a night we went out for dinner in the Hamptons. In August. That was the start."

"Oh, so…you were drunk –"

Paris bristles. "We were tipsy, yeah – he broke into my liquor cabinet after he put the kids to bed, but, you know, it was consensual, so. It happened."

Rory makes a face. "God, with the kids in the house?"

"What do you think happens in a house with an intact family? God Rory, really?"

Rory flushes. "I just meant that – that the kids pick up on things. They need consistency."

"And you don't think I'm providing consistency?"

"Not when you're randomly hooking up!"

"You know damn well I haven't been with anyone since Doyle. And that's just it, Rory, it hasn't been a _random hookup_. Kind of why I brought it up to you in the first place and want to talk to you about it."

"Paris, he's my ex-boyfriend –"

"Almost fifteen years ago."

"It still means something."

"Does it? I mean, I figured it didn't since you never talk about him. Not like the way you reference Dean or Logan. Or Paul, when you bother to remember him."

"Yeah, well, it was…it was hard and complicated –"

"Kind of hard to tell from my end," Paris interrupts. "I didn't think you'd react like this about it, especially since it seems the only ex you're hung up on is Logan." She can't help the way his name comes out derisively.

Rory gapes. "That's not fair. How would you feel if I sat down and told you I slept with Jamie then?"

"Well, first I'd ask what the hell happened to his husband, and it would admittedly be a little strange, but as long as it was consensual, then –"

"So, I can't feel weird about it? You don't feel guilty for it?"

Paris has felt flashes of guilt, but staring at Rory across the table, she's having a moment where she believes it was outrageous to feel that way in the first place. "What the – there's nothing to feel guilty about – it was two adults who decided to engage in sex, one of which was your boyfriend almost _fifteen years ago_. Whom you don't even talk to! You just sent him chapters of your book and expect immediate delivery."

"He knows me better than anyone. I don't have to explain myself to you –"

"I'm your best friend –"

"You're –" Rory stops herself short. Horrified.

Paris stares at her. "Right. Of course. Lane is. I think you should tell her about your shock and appall of adults having sex in a house with children in another room and see how she reacts, I'm sure she'll get a good laugh at it."

"I'm sorry, you know –"

"You know, I actually don't. Not lately. I'm sorry that I thought I could have a conversation about this with you, but you're right. I'm not your best friend. And now I'm thinking you don't really feel like mine either." Paris stands up and puts her bag on her shoulder. 

Rory stands up as she hisses, "You know, I was raised by a single mom. I know what it's like to see my mom with someone good and then it just ends and I'm left with a broken heart. Remember Mr. Medina?"

Paris slams her bag back down on her chair, now officially causing a scene. Lola starts to whimper. "You know what the difference is? I know for a fact that if Jess and I ended, he would be texting me the next day to work out a schedule of when to see my kids. That's not the fucking issue." She puts her bag back on her shoulder. "By the way, when _were_ you going to tell me that Lola is Logan's? When she started feeling the urge to jump out of airplanes?"

"I still didn't know for sure –"

"Oh bullshit. Bye, Rory. Oh, and don't worry about using Logan's money to pay for this. I got it." Paris leaves to go to the hostess, pays the bill, gives a tip as big as the bill itself, and leaves the restaurant.

She's tempted to go into every fucking college bar she passes, but she needs to get back uptown for her first child's birthday party and put a huge smile on her face when all she wants to do is scream.

**

Jess takes one look at Paris and his expression falls.

Paris gently shuts the door and shucks off her jacket. "I think I became deranged assuming that Rory would be somehow fine with us," Paris says with forced lightness.

"How bad?"

"Really bad. Like, a fight in the middle of the restaurant."

He clenches his jaw and shakes his head. "This is bullshit."

"I stole something of hers."

"You didn't steal _anything_. I'm not a thing to take," he says angrily.

She puts her head in her hands. "Maybe I should've spoken to her about it earlier – how I started to like you, but I just got so angry with her because I was so hurt and I just didn't trust her with anything. And I was right not to, I feel like."

"You've guys known each other before I came in and were more consistent than I ever was with her – I don't want you to lose a friendship because of me."

She looks up at him. "If I'm losing Rory, it's because she lied about her goddamn life to me and she treated my friend like shit. Or, well. You know. Whatever."

He tries to smile. "Is that what I am? Whatever?"

"I hate the term boyfriend – it's too juvenile."

"Partner?"

"We're straight."

"I thought you would like that term – it could also be like we're a firm or we're executives."

She smiles a little, but it drops as soon as Timóteo and Gabriela come into the room, clearly expecting Rory and Lola.

"Where's Aunt Rory?" Tim asks.

"And Lola?" Gabriela chimes.

"Aunt Rory's not feeling well. So, she had to go home," Paris lies on her feet. "She's really sorry she has to miss it."

Tim's face falls. "Oh."

"But," Jess interrupts. "Everyone else will be there, which is why we should start making moves, right?"

Jess takes control and entertains the kids while Paris keeps repeating the fight with Rory in her head.

Doyle got to the art studio ahead of time to decorate it. 

"Where's Rory?" Doyle murmurs to Jess and Paris.

"I told her we were dating," Paris answers flatly.

"Are you _fucking kidding_ –"

"Let's talk about this later," Jess interrupts them while holding three bags of chips and extra balloons. 

Doyle mutters under his breath as he takes the chips from Jess' hold. "Missing my child's birthday party for this _bullshit –_ "

Paris ignores the sting in her eyes and focuses on greeting the first small group of kids from Tim's class.

**

The party runs smoothly. Tim seems to be enjoying it, his classmates are having fun, Gabriela isn't left out, mostly due to Doyle and Jess checking in regularly.

There's a point where Jess hands Paris his phone and says quietly, "Artist Alicia is pregnant and needs to be talked down."

"She's _what_." Paris takes the phone and says, "We had _just_ talked last night and you –" she opens the door and heads down the stairs, "didn't tell me this!"

" _Hey, it's Chris. Jess made that up._ "

"What?"

" _We concocted a plan to get you out of there. He wanted to give you a minute. It was good, right?_ "

Paris bites her bottom lip and stares out on the street. "Yeah. Thanks."

" _You don't have to tell me – oh, what the – Matthew, go away!_ "

" _I'm here, Paris. I am here for you. I don't know what happened, but if threatening my well-being will give you strength –_ "

"You guys are so annoying, but I love you," Paris tells them genuinely.

" _Awww_ ," they both intone.

"But if you want to know what happened – I told Rory about Jess and me and she took it poorly."

" _Where does she fucking get off_ –" Matthew screeches clearly before Chris seems to walk away from him, so he's just background noise.

" _Sorry, that was too aggressive. Unless that's what you want to hear._ "

"I'm more trying not to break down over the possibility that I may lose my longest and dearest friend." She takes deep breaths so she doesn’t start panicking.

" _Paris. If there's one thing I know about female friendships is that they can overcome a lot of bullshit. And in the grand scheme of bullshit things, this is so fucking minimal. And she'll realize it soon enough._ "

Paris looks down at her feet. "I hope you're right."

" _Now, get back and entertain those eight-year-olds._ "

"To clarify – Alicia is not pregnant, right?"

" _Alicia has endo and, I quote, 'it would be a medical marvel if I got pregnant.' But she says it in a way where it would obviously be less than ideal if she were a mother._ "  
 _  
_"Oh, I didn't know that. Well, tell her if she needs to change her treatment, I can hook her up."  
 _  
_" _I most certainly will. You good?_ "  
 _  
_"Yeah,” Paris says, finding it not to be as big of a lie as she thought it would be. “Thanks, Chris. And thank Matthew for me when he's done cursing Rory out."  
 _  
_" _I think he's now crying about Jess' youth. You do know that Matthew grew up with a horrible family, right? Like horrible things were done and happened to him._ "

"Yeah, well, it's easier to focus on the suffering of your friends than what you've been through."

" _True. Well, hopefully we see you soon. In Philly or in New York._ "

"Same here. Take care." She hangs up Jess' phone and sees his lock screen is a generic picture that comes with the phone. She used to be like that until she had kids.

She goes back inside and puts on a brave face.

**

Timóteo's mood sours as they head home.

"He knows something's wrong," Jess murmurs in Paris' ear.

"I know," Paris sighs. "I tried."

Doyle winces. "I called her," he blurts.

She whips her head to stare him down. "You didn't."

Doyle shuts his eyes and nods. "I did. I got her voicemail. I yelled."

Jess' face lights up with amusement.

"It wasn't my proudest moment," Doyle admits.

Paris sighs and brings a hand to her temple. They may be in their thirties, but they're still disastrous.

As soon as they walk into the house, Tim rounds on all the adults. "You lied to me," he says to Paris. "Aunt Rory isn't sick. You've been weird all day. You _all_ have. Tell me the truth. Why didn't she come?"

Gabriela stares at them all with wide eyes.

Paris bites her bottom lip. "She didn't come because she's angry with me. I'm why she didn't come."

"Why is she mad at you?"

She looks to Jess and Doyle, who both nod subtly.

"She's angry because I told her that I'm dating Uncle Jess." 

Tim's eyes widen, turning his head to look back at Jess, then at her. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"We were going to wait," Jess starts, looking at Paris. "But I'm sure we're steady."

She hopes so, she believes so. She thinks so.

"So, she's mad at you," Tim states, looking to Paris for confirmation.

"Yes."

"She's mad at you, so she didn't come to my birthday. Why?"

Paris looks to Doyle, who is probably mirroring her confused expression. "Because she thought she wasn't welcome," she answers slowly.

"But I wanted her there. It's my birthday. And she didn't come because she was angry with _you_. That's not fair." Tim's face breaks for a moment, but he controls himself.

"I know it's not fair. I'm sorry." Now Paris is trying to fight her own emotions. "I'm so sorry."

Tim runs up the stairs and surprisingly, Gabriela goes after him. 

Paris brings a hand to her forehead, blocking out her home, trying to keep it together, but she's been doing it since eleven o'clock this morning and she's had enough.

"I'll talk to him," Doyle offers.

She nods, waiting until he's on the third floor. She crouches down and chokes on sobs, Jess bringing an arm around her shoulders. He doesn't say anything – he presses his forehead to her temple and rubs her arm and is present – she feels protected in a way she hasn't felt in a long time.

Fuck ex-boyfriends, fuck Rory, and fuck Paris Geller for thinking she could get away with this.

**

Doyle leaves at midnight since he has an early flight back to LA.

"Rory will get her head out of her ass," Doyle promises as he hugs Paris. "I'll see you in December."

"Don't use jarred green beans like you did last Thanksgiving," Paris reminds him.

"I told you, it was a one-time thing because I forgot to buy them in the grocery store and they ran out," Doyle whines.

She only smiles because he can't see it. And he only says, "You have a beautiful home here," because she can't see him.

Doyle and Jess shake hands, Doyle promising he'll show him a draft of his script, Jess promising he'll consider Doyle potentially adapting one of his books.

"Are you really?" Paris asks Jess as soon as they shut the door after Doyle.

"Eh," Jess shrugs. "It's good to dream."

She laughs a little.

He brings her close and kisses her forehead. 

The fact that she manages to fall asleep at all is nothing short of a miracle.

**

Paris wakes up later than usual to find Tim and Jess at the kitchen table talking quietly while Gabriela is watching Disney Channel.

Tim rushes over to Paris and hugs her tightly.

"I'm sorry for what I said yesterday," he says, his voice muffled.

She rubs her hand up and down his back. "I know, _queridinho_."

"Uncle Jess said you're really sad."

"Yeah. I am sad. I've known Aunt Rory for half my life. And it was the better half."

"You'll make up though, right?"

"I hope so."

Tim pulls back to look up. She brings a hand to his face.

"What do you want to do today?" she asks him.

"Uncle Jess said it was going to be warm today."

Gramercy Park is really for adults – somewhere to sit on a bench and admire the flowers and scenery. They're farther away from Central Park now, so they take a cab to 59th Street. A lot of people have the same idea to take advantage of the Indian summer day, but it's a good thing the park is a big one.

"I'm going to fucking deck a biker if another one comes near me," Jess murmurs under his breath by her ear.

"Let's get on a pedestrian path because I'll help," she suggests. " _Venha junto comigo_ ," she tells the kids.

He furrows his brow. " _Andar...no caminho_ ," he adds slowly. 

"I'd be impressed that you knew what 'path' was except I'm sure that type of car was featured in plenty of your favorite motion pictures."

"Have you ever seen _Harold and Maude_?"

"I was told I would hate it because it originated the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope."

He stares at her, knowing it wasn't just a random person saying that. "We'll watch it. In a couple of years, Tim might like it."

"Wait. Does this movie have a folk soundtrack too?"

"Maybe."

"I hate folk music."

"I know you do."

"You want to punish me?"

"It's a black comedy directed by a talented editor about a quirky relationship between a twenty-something guy and an eighty-year-old woman."

She raises her eyebrows. "Quirky?"

"It does develop into a romance."

"That's incredible," she announces. "Do we ever see young men with older women? I'm too used to it being the other way around."

"I am technically older than you."

"By a few months, shut up."

"That's mean to say!" Gabriela announces, whipping her head to look back at them.

"Yeah, Paris, that was so mean," Jess agrees.

She makes a move to gut check him with her elbow, but he grabs her waist. "I know your ways, Paris Geller."

"Let go," she laughs. 

The kids suddenly stop in their tracks and Paris looks past them and oh. Of _fucking_ course.

It's Rory pushing Lola in a carriage, walking alongside Logan Huntzberger.

Frankly, Paris prided herself in being able to avoid him for so many years.

Rory and Logan stop too and there's a weird distance between them, making this run in even more awkward.

"You know what," Jess starts with a exhale of laugher, Tim and Gabriela twisting their bodies to look at him simultaneously. "I'm not doing this." He gestures for the kids to walk with him. "I'll meet you at the entrance," he tells Paris, his voice even and his face calm.

Gabriela rushes to Jess and takes his hand.

Tim stares at Jess then turns to Rory with a look of righteous anger that mirrors Paris’ own.

Paris stares at Rory pointedly. "Kids continue mimicking faces long past five months."

Rory shoots Paris a glare before looking to Tim, her face melting into that of regret. "Tim, I'm so sorry –"

"You missed my birthday party because you were mad at my mom."

"I did. And I'm so sorry."

"Why? It was _my_ party. I wanted you there. What does your problem with my mom have to do with me? You missed Gabriela's birthday because you had Lola in your stomach." Tim points to Lola in the carriage. "Now she's here. And you didn't come. Do you not love me?"

Rory shoots Paris an expressive scowl. "What are you telling him?"

"Tim is capable of expressing his own thoughts and feelings."

"Oh please, like you would've let me come if I showed up," Rory snaps.

Logan places a hand on Rory's back, placating.

" _Tim, please go with your sister and Uncle Jess. I'm proud of you for speaking your mind, but now it's Mommy's turn,_ " Paris tells Tim in Portuguese.

Tim makes sure to shoot Rory and Logan nasty looks before running past Gabriela and Jess.

"I'm not the one with the problem here," Paris says, crossing her arms.

"No, I am. You had forgiven me for not telling you about Logan –"

Paris glares at Logan. "Let's not get carried away here –"

"And then you drop this bomb that you and my ex-boyfriend are _dating_?" Rory bulldozes over Paris, furious in a way that Paris has rarely seen from her. "And you don't tell me a damn thing? I have a right to feel a certain way. I mean, I always thought you were jealous of me growing up, but this is just another level, even for you. You claim to be some _great_ feminist and here you are, going behind my back to screw around with my ex-boyfriend? You're a hypocrite on top of being a sneak."

Even Logan is taken aback by the outburst.

Paris was always jealous of Rory to a certain extent. Rory had friends, she was smart, she was pretty, everyone liked her, she had a mother that loved her, every guy she liked ended up liking her too. Even though she attended school on a scholarship and couldn't afford the latest fashion or the most up to date technology, her life seemed so much easier in so many ways.

Paris figured that Rory knew that to some extent, but to vocalize it and throw it in her face, in front of Huntzberger –

"You know," Paris starts, her voice wavering as she stares at Huntzberger. He at least had the decency to take off the wedding band. "I always thought she was too good for you. For years. But she loved you. Or loves you, I don't know. But now? I think you two are perfect for each other. Excuse me, I need to join the rest of my family." 

Paris turns her back on them and walks away, choking on her breath, but she doesn't cry. She struggles to take out her phone to text Jess that she needs to be alone for a while, but she'll be home in time for dinner.

She goes to her office since it's within walking distance and she works because that's what she does best. She forgets to eat because she has years of reinforcement engrained in her body to ignore it, so by the time she leaves and orders an Uber, she feels lightheaded and nauseous.

Dinner is a quiet affair.

Later, Paris and Jess sit in bed together in silence.

"You're rethinking," Jess surmises.

"I don't want to rethink it, but I'm doing it anyway." She crosses her arms.

"You're not a bad friend. And you're not some antifeminist. And frankly, I'm really fucking annoyed that she's treating me like I'm one of her personal belongings and you're going along with it."

Paris bites her bottom lip, tears stinging her eyes. "I hate that she's ruining this. I hate that I'm overthinking it and therefore ruining it."

He sighs, bringing an arm around her shoulders to pull her to his chest. "Do you need to take a minute?" he asks.

She hates herself for crying. But she hates herself more for saying yes.

**

Paris is proven right, in the end. Jess asks the next morning which afternoons or nights or weekends for the next couple of weeks would be okay for him to spend time with the kids. They exchange schedules and she feels like she's too efficient at this, splitting her time with her kids.

Jess insists it's temporary, but he has more faith in her at the moment; Paris hopes she can get her head on straight.

Before he takes the kids to school and heads to work, he reaches out and places a hand on the back of her head, pressing their foreheads together. "I know this all hurts, but you make me feel valued and I want you to know I value you too. Take your time, okay? No matter what, we're good."

She swallows over the lump in her throat and manages a nod before he pulls away.

He's always been categorized as something of Rory's, not being his own person.

And once he leaves, Paris switches gears – she's Paris Geller and she has always had her work before men and work has never let her down.

(Except being the editor of the _Yale Daily News_ , but that's glossed over.)

**

Paris informs Phoebe that she will be a nightmare for at least a week as a warning.

"Rory and I are no longer speaking and I'm pissed and upset. That can be disseminated," Paris explains because she fucking hates rumors and she'll be damned if people talk about her being angry about a man in her life. 

Phoebe nods dutifully. "Got it."

"Get ready for severance packages to be put together. I'm sure I'm going to fire at least a couple of low hanging fruit."

Phoebe sighs. "Right."

"I think that's it."

"Alright."

There is some progress to be had, even if Paris does act like a fucking terror for a week and a half, but it blows off steam and she needs to in order to act like everything is fine in front of her kids. Still, Paris isn’t totally heartless – on Thursday night, she texts Phoebe informing her that she will not be coming in on Friday or be available to give the office a break.

Instead, Paris plans her day:

"After you leave with the children, I'm going to start drinking heavily, watching stupid television, and eating takeout. By the time the kids are out of school, I expect to be violently ill, so the kids will be told I'm sick and I will be better in the morning."

Clementina blinks a few times. "Does the violently ill part need to happen?"

"Yes, because I refuse to have my children see me like that it would be easier to pretend I caught a stomach bug."

Clementina sighs and nods. "Alright. Are you sure you don't want to talk about it instead?"

"I'm absolutely sure I'd rather get trashed and watch trashy shows and eat trash food."

Clementina smiles a little. "Okay."

"I will also give you time and a half."

“I'd say you don't have to, but I don't know what type of drunk Paris I'm getting."

"Exactly. Nobody knows. Feel free to be anywhere in the house except for when I order food, I'd like for you to answer the door."

"Of course."

"Thank you, Clementina."

Clementina smiles and pats Paris' hand. " _Vai ficar tudo bem._ "

Will it be okay? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it won't get better tomorrow, so.

**

First, Paris puts on an embroidered robe that she bought years ago that was worth a couple of grand, but looks fabulous. It was purchased when she was a little tipsy after she and Doyle bought their townhouse – she thought it was something grand and fitting for the house. Now she just tends to wear it when she's in a mood.

Next, she organizes the takeout menus on the nightstand so they're easily accessible and she can make quick decisions on what she wants.

And finally, the alcohol is measured so the space between refills is nonexistent.

She kisses her children goodbye, wishes them a wonderful day at school, and begins.

Paris starts with mimosas and graduates to a bourbon and cider concoction because it's fucking fall and she wants to be fucking _festive_ , even though she's back to watching _The OC_ where the weather is perfect every day.

"Oliver ain't shit!" Paris whines as the gang yet again doesn't take Ryan's concerns seriously. "Can you _be-lieve_ this?" She turns to Clementina, who has walked past her to get to the kids' rooms to drop off folded piles of laundry.

"Oliver was a jackass," Clementina agrees with the passion of someone who has indeed watched the show.

Paris cackles. "Do you want anything? I'm getting _Chinese_. Steamed pork dumplings?"

"Yes – would you mind also getting chicken and broccoli?"

"You got it."

"Do you want me to order?"

"No, I must do this."

"Okay, then. I left you a water on the off chance you want it." Clementina nods to the water that was put on the coffee table that's been promptly ignored for the last two episodes.

"Thank you, Clementina. I'm going to order now."

Paris orders a lot of things. Lo mein, a few orders of dumplings because the kids like those too, sesame chicken, chicken and broccoli as promised, and two different kinds of fried rice.

" _Vindication!"_ Paris screams, her drink almost sloshing over the rim when Luke agrees with Ryan that Oliver is trouble.

After some time, the doorbell rings and Paris is so excited to eat. Except, when she gets to the doorway to greet Clementina with bags of food, Paris finds Lorelai Gilmore standing in front of her instead. 

"Whoa, déjà vu," Lorelai says, blinking a few times.

"What are you doin' here – here to have a go at me on Rory's behalf?" Paris snorts, pushing herself off the door frame – she didn't realize she was leaning on it – to get back to the couch. "You can shove it up your ass."

Paris sits back down and presses play. Marissa is in the middle of another defense of Oliver. "Marissa's true downfall is that she trusts people too easily."

"Okay, Paris? Can you pause _The OC_? I'm not here to 'have a go at you.' I'm actually here to talk to you."

Paris sips her drink and pauses it. "What do _you_ wanna talk about if it's not about _Rory_? I'm sure you _already know_ what's been goin' on."

"Okay, the fact that you seem to have picked up a minor Brooklyn accent when you're drunk is hilarious and will be brought up in the future, but…" Lorelai sits down next to Paris and puts her bag down. "Yeah. Rory told me. That you secretly were messing around with Jess and never talked about it with her until this weekend. And Jess told Luke earlier this week that yeah, you guys were seeing each other, but it's currently on hold because you didn't want to feel like he was a possession that you stole while you were with him. And now I want to hear it from you. From the beginning."

Paris looks away from Lorelai and toward the ceiling, the television, back to Lorelai. "Trust the writer to put words to my feelings that I haven't been able to vocalize myself."

The doorbell rings.

"That's Chinese food," Paris says, bringing her drink to her mouth.

"Okay, let's eat and take a break from this," Lorelai says kindly, but firmly taking the glass from Paris' hand.

And with the spread of food on the coffee table and some containers on the floor, Paris begins to tell Lorelai the story of her and Jess. 

"He was my friend – he _is_ – I mean, we're friends first," Paris says after eating her fourth dumpling. "And you understand – how hard it is to find guys who are okay with kids, and he's just so good with them. Y'know I almost slipped twice referring to him as _Dad_?"

"I didn't."

"Yeah, well. I did." Paris adds lo mein to her plate. "I feel like we really get each other, which is a miracle since we're both horrible at sharing emotions generally, but I think we generally do okay with each other."

"Yeah."

"And we're friends. If I had to choose between the sex and the friendship, I'd pick the friendship every fucking time."

Lorelai is grimacing, but Paris always thought Lorelai was weirdly uptight about sex in general. Paris continues eating even though she's starting to hit a wall.

"You know, Rory hurt me too," Paris says quietly, putting down her fork. "She lied to me. About Logan, about Lola, her life. I didn't feel like I could trust her. So, I didn't tell her. And I also felt like I didn't need her permission. Because we're adults. And –" She stops herself short.

"What?" Lorelai prompts.

"I knew it was something really good. For me and him." Paris puts down her plate. "Are you satisfied?"

Lorelai sighs. "It wasn't about me being satisfied, kid. I thought maybe you needed a mom to hear you out."

Tears prickle in Paris' eyes. "I've gotten this far without a good one. I've gotten this far despite having a bad one."

"I know, but you know me, always happy to offer my services to those in need."

"Even when they're hurting Rory?"

"Rory is an adult who makes her own choices and doesn't need me to defend her or protect her," Lorelai says firmly. "And I think both of you are capable of handling complex, adult relationships, which I think this definitely meets the criteria. Yes, Rory and Jess dated and that relationship was always difficult for a number of reasons, but they both grew up and lived separate lives for over a decade. And trust me when I say that the Jess Mariano of 2017 is another person in comparison to the Jess Mariano of 2003."

"Rory doesn't see it that way," Paris points out. "And maybe she's right – we're all the same people we were in 2003, just evolved." She's beginning to feel nauseous. "I hate these philosophical debates. It makes me feel like an asshole."

"You look like you're going to puke," Lorelai points out worriedly.

"I will, that was the plan." Paris takes the water at the corner of the table and slowly sips it. "Well, anyway, I don't know if this meeting was very productive beyond helping me get rid of the physical evidence of this meltdown."

Lorelai snorts. "I can clear a table." She begins to clean up, which is thoughtful. "I have to ask," she starts, carefully avoiding Paris' face. "Do you love him?"

Paris rolls her eyes. Sometimes it's just so obvious that Rory is Lorelai's daughter. "Of course I do. This is about my insecurities, his albatross of being involved with the great Rory Gilmore, and our mutual desire to have a life partner that can handle our baggage." She's hit with nausea again. "I'm going to vomit. You can see your way out." Paris rushes past Lorelai to get to the closest bathroom and makes it just in time, a hand automatically going to the back of her head to hold back long hair she hasn't had in years. Some habits die hard.

She hears Lorelai walking up behind her, groaning as she gets on her knees, a hand rubbing Paris' back comfortingly. "For what it's worth," Lorelai says after Paris empties her stomach a second time and flushes the toilet. "When I first heard about you two being friends, I thought it was so weird because you're both such strong personalities that I assumed you would've killed each other, but then seeing you in Stars Hollow together…" There's a pause. "To be honest, it didn't surprise me when Rory told me you were dating. I thought it made sense."

Paris thinks about how she heard _vindicated, I am selfish, I am wrong, I am right, I swear I'm right, swear I knew it all along_ – coming from Timóteo's bedroom one day after school and feeling that deep in her soul.

Paris hears Lorelai struggle to stand up. "Will you be okay?" Lorelai asks.

"Yeah. This is all part of the plan," Paris insists.

"So you've said. Which is slightly concerning, but I'll leave you to it."

Paris cranes her neck to look up at Lorelai. "Thanks. I always did see you as a mother-figure."

Lorelai smiles. "I think you and Rory will work it out. First you need to work on yourselves."

"That's some self-help nonsense."

"Yeah, I know, but it doesn’t make me wrong though." Lorelai smiles again. "Hopefully I'll see you soon in the Hollow. Someone needs to keep Taylor on his toes."

"It's one of my favorite hobbies." Paris tries to smile, but then gets the urge to vomit again. 

"I'll leave you to your _Exorcist_ moment."

"Based on a novel. 1973."

"Very good, Paris. Gold star."

Paris laughs while she rests her cheek on the seat.

**

Paris in bed with the spins by the time her children get home. They peek into her bedroom and tell her that they love her and hope she feels better tomorrow.

"Me too, my loves, me too."

**

Paris gets her shit together by Saturday morning even though her back is sore and she won't be able to do weights for a few days.

Although her mood plummets a little when she gets a call from Jess telling her that Lorelai told Luke about how the visit went, and Luke told Jess, figuring it would help them.

"Does anyone get that we're _not_ fighting? We're still speaking to each other," Paris asks, confused as she forces herself to suck down a smoothie that's a little too healthy to taste good. 

" _Yeah, I think it's a little too complicated for them. We just removed the sex and romance. Which, I don't think much was happening in the latter department._ "

"Yeah, I don't know if we were that great, but we didn't give it enough time yet. I miss the sex though."

" _Yeah, but it's fine. We'll get over it._ "

"Ugh," Paris groans once she finishes her smoothie.

" _What?_ "

"I just had a smoothie with too many healthy things to get my body back on track."

"The Exorcist _was mentioned._ "

"I get that's a thing couples do, but it really annoys the shit out of me that she couldn't keep a few things to herself," she mutters as she rinses out her glass. "Especially when it was going to go back to you."

" _I'm not judging you._ "

"I know you wouldn't. I'm judging myself. I scheduled a breakdown session."

" _Well, your_ scheduling _one wasn't told to me, but I figured you did that. You take your calendars very seriously._ " He sighs. " _Are you okay? Is there something I can do to alleviate the angst?_ "

"I owe you a lot of blowjobs," she exhales.

He laughs a little. " _I can get you out of your head for a while. One time offer?_ "

"I'll save it for a rainy day."

" _Hah. Is it still okay if I take the kids out for hot chocolate today?_ "

"Yeah, I'm just going to be out."

" _You don't have to._ "

"I don't want to jump you," she admits with no shame.

He snorts. " _Damn. Alright, I'll see you sometime next week?_ "

"Yeah. I'll keep you updated on my bullshit emotional journey."

" _It's not bullshit, Paris. I'll be here, okay? I'm pretty heavily involved at this point and don't really want to stop, so, just do what you need to do._ "

"Right." She exhales. "Okay."

" _I know neither of us are used to people sticking around with our shit, but I am._ "

"Thanks."

She hears a crash from Jess' end. Then Jess' sigh. " _The people I'm sharing a living space with are disasters in the kitchen. Like, they make bad food and they're klutzes. Hence, the loud crash. I better go to make sure they clean it properly._ "

"Okay, talk to you later."

There's something to be said about the power of Jewish guilt.

**

Paris leaves the house to go on a walk, solely to avoid Jess.

At one point while heading south towards Union Square, she looks up and sees a woman in a navy peacoat with short blonde hair and berry-tinted lips who looks so much like Louise Grant that Paris does a double take. The woman stops short, gets jostled by someone walking by, and turns around and what the _hell_.

Louise Grant.

What are the _odds_?

"I can't believe it. Paris Geller," Louise says in shock, but she eventually smiles.

An actual, genuine smile. Not a half-smirk.

"Wow. It's been – how long has it been? At least ten years," Paris almost-stutters.

"I think it was freshman year spring break." Louise shakes her head. "Feels like a lifetime ago."

"Yeah." Paris swallows. "Do you live in the city?"

"No, Stamford. But I work here."

"Oh, that's nice. Well, I don't want to keep you –"

"Are you okay? You look upset," Louise interrupts her.

"Well, you'd know, wouldn't you," Paris mutters.

"I mean…yeah. We went to the same private schools for over ten years. We were friends. Or frenemies, I guess." Louise shrugs. 

Paris exhales and nods. "Yeah. That's true. And yes, I'm upset. There's shit going on in my personal life."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"…Seriously?"

"Yeah, I just –" Louise starts before laughing. "I actually, believe it or not, have a date. But I'll tell him I need to postpone –"

Paris shakes her head and tries not to laugh. "Of course you do – and you don't have to, I know –"

But Louise already has a phone up to her ear, waiting. "Hi, Jack. I'm sorry, I'm going to need to postpone our date for an hour or so." She pauses and listens for a moment. "Something came up, I'm sorry. But I can text you in an hour and see where I am. If you're not available, I understand." She waits again and this time, she smiles. "Great. I'll keep you posted. See you soon." She hangs up. "So, where were you heading to?"

Paris looks around to see where she is, quickly thinking of a place to not make it seem as if she's walking around like a crazy person with no destination in mind. "Chloe's. To eat my feelings."

"…That's a really healthy way of eating your feelings. But okay, let's go."

When they turn the block, Louise looks Paris up and down. "You look amazing, by the way."

Paris smiles.

**

On the way to East 17th street, Paris fills her in on the last decade – her going to medical school, law school, her side studies when she couldn't sleep at night. Her marriage to Doyle, her children, her divorce from Doyle.

Paris learns that after spring break, Louise eventually went back to school. She spent a few years in Paris, where she said she experienced her first real heartbreak: she caught feelings and found out he was cheating. Paris scoffs at this and says _typical_ , which makes Louise snort. Louise says she's been more careful since then. 

"So, now I'm a personal stylist at Bergdorf Goodman with a good number of regular clients," Louise concludes.

"You always knew your fashion, I'm not surprised. You like it?"

"I do. Sometimes they fly me to Europe for shopping as well. I'm going to Milan at the end of the month with one client. Pray that I meet a hot Italian on a Vespa who will whisk me away," Louise jokes. 

They arrive at the shop and there's a line, despite the fact that it's fifty degrees.

"Okay, so what's up with you?" There's a spark of the teenage Louise behind her eyes. "Is it about a guy?"

"It actually is. Sixteen-year-old you would be thrilled."

Louise smiles. "She _is_. Alright, what's wrong with him?"

"He's Rory's ex-boyfriend."

Louise's eyes widen. "You slept with _Dean_?"

Paris recoils and shuts her eyes. "My soul just left my body. _No_. Not him. He's married with five children like a good midwestern boy. No, it's her boyfriend after him. You might've seen him a few times during senior year. He had a piece of shit car that probably wasn't street legal."

Louise nods definitively after a moment. "Dark hair, jean jacket, James Dean like?"

"His name's Jess," Paris confirms.

"Oh, good taste."

"I don't trust your taste since you found Dean hot."

"In hindsight, I think it was the height," Louise says thoughtfully. "Anyway. Okay, need more details. How long did they date, when did they break up, was there any hookups after the break up, did they ever get back together – that kind of thing."

"They broke up right after graduation. No contact for months until they bumped into each other in Hicksville. He told her he loved her and ran off. No contact for another couple of months until he asked her to run away with him."

"Oh, romantic," Louise sighs. 

"Stupid, but yeah, I guess so. She said no, then no contact for over a year –"

"Okay…"

"Then he visits her to tell her that he got his life together and couldn't have done it without her."

"Aw, sweet."

"She had a boyfriend at the time. A few weeks after _that_ run-in, she goes to Philly where he lives for his printing press' open house. She stays until the very end, kisses him, then says she's still with her boyfriend, whom she got into a fight with a few weeks prior – he cheated on her, basically. Wanted to get back at him with Jess."

Louise grimaces. "Not sweet."

"Then nothing. A few run-ins since his uncle and her mom have been together for the last ten years."

"Really?"

"Don't think about it too deeply. And for the last year, Rory's been writing a book and Jess has been editing it."

"That's…" 

They make it to the front of the line and they place their soft serve orders. After they pay, they walk outside and are lucky to grab the bench by the window.

"Okay, so they haven't had sex since high school," Louise surmises.

"They didn't have sex."

"Wait, what?"

Paris shrugs. "They never slept together. Besides, that's not an indication that a relationship was worth more."

"Yeah, but…they didn't do _anything_ after they broke up? They kiss once and that's it? And they've only been running into each other for the last decade? Failing to see the issue? Seems like the relationship has been long dead."

Paris sighs. "It's my best friend's ex-boyfriend."

"Okay, fine, girl-code. I respect that. How did you even get involved with him then, if Rory wasn't even seeing him?"

Paris scoops enough soft serve to get chocolate chips and raspberries in a mouthful. "I was desperate for a babysitter last year and I knew he was in the city for work. And my kids really took to him. Doyle was going to miss the first night of Hanukkah and Christmas, so I asked him to come over so my kids wouldn't be depressed. And then we started talking and seeing each other more…"

Paris tells Louise about what happened in LA in March, his coming to Gabriela's birthday party and his wearing a feather boa and getting paint on his face. She tells her about Lucy's wedding, his helping with homework over the phone and Skype. And she starts to tell her about the sex, but -

"You _cannot_ leave me hanging here," Louise insists.

Paris exhales. "It's good. Really good. The best I've had, ever."

Louise raises her eyebrows. "Damn. Seems Mary missed out."

Paris stands up. "I told Rory. For the sake of honesty, but we naturally had a fight about it. So, here I am."

Louise exhales slowly. "Well, then."

"Yeah, so. Any advice?"

"What did you and Jess agree on?"

"I told him I needed time to sort things out. I don't know if Rory is going to start talking to him now or what. Maybe she realized she had it wrong all this time and Jess is the one for her. And she was his first love,” Paris says, trying to come across blasé, but she can’t fool Louise.

"Uh, yeah, but it sounds like she's been treating him kind of poorly. She's been using him. First, she used him to get back at her boyfriend, and since he obviously didn't tell her off properly for it, she came back with this book shit." Louise shakes her head. "Who'd of thought Rory Gilmore would be a master manipulator?"

"She's not a master manipulator. I think she's just looking to feel appreciated, or something. She's been having an off couple of years. You know she had a kid?"

"Really? No man?"

"Oh, the man exists," Paris spits.

"Please tell me it's Dean."

" _No_ , it's another ex-boyfriend. But that's another story."

"Okay, fine."

Paris sighs. "Advice would be great."

"Okay, let's take Rory out of the picture."

"She's a big part of the problem though."

"That's only if you put more weight on it than necessary. So, for the sake of simplicity, we're removing her. You like this guy. He treats you well, respects who you are, loves your kids, is great in bed – no brainer. Keep him."

"What if I'm…nervous."

"What, that he'll fall back in love with Rory and dump you as a result of her knowing about you guys?" Louise asks bluntly.

"It sounds so fucking stupid, like Chilton," Paris scoffs, embarrassed as her cheeks flush.

"Jess doesn't sound like Tristan."

"I know, he's not."

Louise stares at Paris for a moment. "I know you're one of those people that only let a few people in and you love them deeply. I also know that despite being friends with Rory all these years, you sometimes feel secondary to her. Despite all the amazing accomplishments you've made and where you are now."

Louise was always smarter than Madeline, but her ability to get to Paris' insecurities is unnerving. 

"I think you're selling yourself short,” Louise continues. “And I think you're underestimating him based on boys of Christmas past."

"So…you're saying I should give it a real shot, regardless," Paris concludes.

"Yes. And let Jess choose you. because I think he will. You're a force of nature, Paris Geller, and I think if he's gotten himself this deep into your family, then he clearly wants it for the long haul."

Paris' eyes sting. "Thanks."

Louise smiles. "You're welcome."

Paris breathes, feeling a little lighter. "Dare I ask about Madeline?"

Louise snorts. "She's fine. She got herself a music producer of a husband and she's living in Nashville. She has a three-year-old son and another baby on the way. Stay at home mom, living her dream."

Paris shakes her head. "Of course. Well, if it makes her happy."

"I'd say at any given moment, she's the happiest of the three of us." Louise takes out her phone and types out a text. "Just checking to see if Jack didn't bail."

"I'd be more than happy to present him with my issues as proof."

"Thanks, but I don't want to be with someone that's not going to trust me and be paranoid." Louise looks down and smiles. "He's still in. He's picked a wine bar a few blocks up. Walk with me?"

After they cut through Union Square and start walking up Park Avenue, Paris says, "Thank you for listening. It was…exactly what I needed."

"Yeah, well, it was the least I could do for some of the things I did at Chilton." Louise smiles at Paris excitedly. "Can I see your kids?"

"Oh yeah, absolutely." 

Paris pulls up a few pictures of Timóteo and Gabriela. There's a picture of Jess with paint on his face smiling with an over-the-moon Gabriela that makes Louise gasp. " _Stop_ , that's him?" Louise takes the phone out of Paris' hand and stares. "I don't remember those muscles."

"It only happened in the last couple of years. He won't tell anyone why. I think it was a bet with his friends and everyone else lost."

"He's hot. Definitely." Louise gives the phone back. "Well. This has been a wild moment. Maybe we can grab a drink next time?"

Paris opens up her contacts. "What's your number?"

They exchange numbers. Louise brings Paris in for a hug, even though they both don't really like it. 

"If Jess has any hot friends…"

"They all live in Philly and they're all creative people."

Louise grimaces. "Never mind. Bye."

"Good luck."

Louise waves and heads inside the bar.

Paris exhales and begins making her way home.

**

And finally, on Sunday, while Clementina is out food shopping, Paris opens her front door after hearing persistent knocking to find Rory with her sad, 'Hunter just shot my mother' Bambi face that has barely changed over the last sixteen years.

Frankly, she's surprised Rory found out where her new home is until she realizes that she probably found out from her mom. Or Jess.

"Yes?" Paris prompts Rory testily.

"Can I come in?"

Paris is tempted to say no, and judging by Rory's subsequent look of panic, she hasn't done a good job of hiding her thought process. "Sure." Paris steps to the side.

Rory walks in and Paris loudly slams the door behind Rory, causing her to jump.

Paris crosses her arms over her chest. "What do you want?"

Rory swallows. "I came to say I'm sorry. I've been a major, _major_ asshole. Not just then, but the last couple of years. I've taken advantage of our friendship."

Paris raises an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

Rory looks down and exhales. "The thing is, about Jess – our timing was never right. I mean, I met him when I was with Dean, and I was confused and didn't know if I wanted the comfort of Dean or the excitement of Jess. And then when we were together…Jess was just _so bad_ at talking. Like I spent hours wondering what the hell he was thinking or how he was feeling." She looks up and shrugs. "And I kept comparing him to Dean. Not always overtly, but enough that it didn't help. And in the end, it…he was going through things that he wouldn't tell me about, but looking back now, even if I did, I wasn't equipped to handle it. He was just so _angry_."

Paris exhales in amusement. "Yeah, that's what happens," she responds.

"You wouldn't have had the patience either," Rory points out.

"Eighteen-year-old me? Yeah. But I'm not eighteen anymore and neither is he. That doesn't have to do with now. Even so, eighteen-year-old me didn't have the maturity to appreciate this Jess, so. Here we are."

"Here we are." Rory bites her bottom lip. "I don't know if these past few months I was thinking in the back of my mind…but it's just…it wasn't meant to be. Timing wasn't our strong suit and we're not the same people." She exhales. "I'll admit I was a little jealous, too. Being the center of his attention is kind of addicting in a way."

Paris doesn't think that at all, but it hits her that it's just an immature way of thinking about it. Which puts everything into perspective.

"I've always thought of you as my best friend, Rory," Paris tells her. "You're always going to be at the top of my list in terms of people I love. I know this is a little weird, but I want to make it work. All of it. My relationship with him, our friendship moving forward with this happening."

"Me too. I'm really sorry about what I almost said. Lane is like my sister – I've known her since I was in kindergarten."

Paris doesn't understand that kind of friendship, so she keeps silent.

"For the sake of honesty – I had a long talk with Jess before I came here," Rory says. "It was overdue."

Paris waits a second for an internal reaction, but instead she just feels relieved. "Okay, great."

Rory blinks in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes, I think both of you have hang ups. How was it?"

"I showed him what I wrote about him. Well, the parts he hadn't read. It was basically a hundred-page apology.

"I'm sure he's not without fault."

"I know that, but I never acknowledged my part in it. I thought I wanted to be Christiane Amanpour, seeing war and politics and different people, but I couldn't even handle the ugliness and trauma that my boyfriend had dealt with for the first seventeen years of his life. How was I supposed to handle children in war-torn countries?"

"That's different, come on, Rory –"

"It's not though – if I wanted to open myself up to seeing and hearing and experiencing these things, then why was I afraid to talk to him?"

Paris sighs. "I don't know. Maybe some part of you respected that he had issues and didn't necessarily want him to relive it through telling you. Maybe you sensed he wasn't ready to contend with it. I don't know."

Rory snorts. "Figured you'd get it within a minute."

"So, you apologized?"

"Yeah. Basically. Had closure on some things. Talked about feelings we liked to bury."

Paris thinks about asking her if they kissed, but that's not fair. Besides, it has nothing to do with her. "Well, I'm glad."

"I am sorry, Paris. I'm going to do better."

“I know you are. You're Rory Gilmore."

Rory smiles, her eyes teary.

"Ugh. Come on," Paris brings her in for a tight hug, rubbing her back like she does with her children. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you how I was feeling – it kind of snuck up on me."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Lola's dad," Rory says quietly. "I've only told my mom. I obviously can't know for sure, but – it's obvious. It's only going to get more obvious when she gets older."

Paris steps back and leads her to the kitchen. "What's going on with Logan?"

"I'm still figuring out how involved I want him to be. I know he'll be more involved than my dad was, but…my dad wasn't married." Rory plops into a chair and rubs her temple. "I'm a fucking mess, Hernando."

"I don't understand that reference."

" _Sense8_ on Netflix. Wachowski sisters. It got a little convoluted in the typical Wachowski way, but it was a cool show that took you to all corners of the world."

"Netflix canceled it, I'm assuming."

"Yep."

"Met the same fate of _Rome_." Paris brings a hand to her heart. "Too expensive and too good for its time."

Rory smiles at her. "I've really missed you."

"I've missed you too." Paris sits down next to Rory. "I'll admit I feel a certain way about your relationship with Logan, given everything. Just like you feel a certain way about me and Jess, given everything."

"That's a fair assumption," Rory admits.

"What do you propose we do?"

They sit in silence for a minute. Paris gets up to make coffee.

"Maybe we can give essential updates," Rory suggests.

"What does 'essential' mean?"

"Like…my coming to a decision about Logan knowing definitively that he's the father."

"And for me?"

"When you resume fully dating him," Rory says quietly. "He told me you needed time."

"I did. Do. We're still talking, it's –"

Paris' phone chimes with a text and her heart flips when she sees it's Jess. She opens it immediately and it's a song. She only recognizes the band - Chicago - but not the song, so she presses play.

"Oh, that's a good one," Rory says after the first few seconds. "Who sent you that?"

The lyrics are cheesy, but her heart beats hard in her chest when she hears _life is so easy when you're beside me_.

"Jess?" Rory guesses, surprised.

She wets her bottom lip and swallows over a lump in her throat before nodding. "It's, uh – a thing. Started by his step-sister in LA."

"That's…surprisingly really cute." Rory blinks a few times. "I never would've guessed."

Paris brings up her text messages with Jess and hovers over the keyboard for a moment.

From Paris Geller:  
 _I'm listening.  
_  
She looks back up at Rory. "Maybe in the new year, we can talk about it more."

Rory smiles, relieved, but happy too as she nods.

(Paris stares at the screen, expecting him to type something, or even call, but he doesn't.)

"The kids are upstairs if you want to see them."

"Yeah, that's another thing," Rory says, bringing her large purse to the kitchen table, drumming her fingers on it. "I have a birthday gift to give."

**

Paris was a little nervous that Tim would hold a spectacular grudge, but he listens to Rory's apology and accepts his gift and offers her a smile, so he's already better than his mother. Which is the goal of parenting, right?

There's a new naturalness to Rory interacting with her kids, which is interesting to see. Paris checks her phone occasionally, but there's still no message.

Later, after Rory leaves to go back to Stars Hollow, Paris is playing Candyland with her children as a means of distraction when the doorbell rings.

"I've got it," Clementina says, putting down her knitting to go to the front door. She peeks through the peephole and immediately opens the door. "Jess, what a surprise."

Paris whips her head and finds herself unable to stand as Jess steps into her house.

"Hey," he says over the kids gasping in delight.

The kids stand up quickly while Paris takes her time. Her legs are a little shaky.

"Sorry, to stop by without calling or texting, I just…" He stops, exhales a laugh. "I'm gonna say something, well, a few things, and you can, uh…decide from there, but I want to be here. More than I am." He swallows and focuses on Timóteo and Gabriela. "I want to pick you up from school more often. And help with homework. And watch bad movies. And be an adult you can trust, which, your mom can vouch for, is really f– really hard to find and it's hard to be. I also know what it's like to not feel like you have any say or control in your life as a kid, so if you don't want…any of it. Or if you want some, more – it's up to you guys."

Gabriela and Tim have matching expressions of shock – wide eyes, open mouths. Before they can land on a reaction or response, Jess looks to Paris, "I want it all with you," he says simply.

She blinks, her heart swelling in her chest – it always takes her by surprise how much she's capable of really feeling.

Gabriela looks to her mom hopefully. "Can he?" she asks softly.

Paris and Jess stare at each other. He smiles a little.

"Can he what, honey?" Paris asks.

"Be here more."

"What about you, Tim? What do you want?"

Timothy looks up at Paris, then to Gabriela, then to Jess. "You want to be our dad?" he asks bluntly.

Jess furrows his brow in thought for a moment. "A father figure would probably be a more…respectful way of putting it since you have one," Jess says slowly. "Or a second dad, if you'd like."

Tim thinks for a few seconds and nods definitively. "Yes. I would like that a lot."

Paris is doing her best to temper her smile and she's failing at it. "You're trying to get my kids to break me down?"

"I figured you'd appreciate putting the kids first since we didn't get that courtesy."

She runs her teeth over her bottom lip. "I think we'll need to discuss logistics. Like the fact that you're renting a room. Who thought that was a good idea?"

"There are plenty of young professionals who are looking to rent in Manhattan for less than two-thousand a month."

"And you're not going to feel gross living above Union Square?"

He smiles properly. "I'll get over it."

"So, that's it, then?"

"I've never done a declaration like this before," he answers with a shrug. 

"It was a good one," Clementina pipes in.

"Yeah, it was," Paris agrees softly. She clears her throat and pulls her shoulders back. "If my kids want you here and Clementina wants you here, then I want you here."

Timóteo and Gabriela scream in that annoying child-pitch that usually hurts, but this time Paris really enjoys it, especially when they attack him with a hug that nearly causes him to fall over.

"It's an if, then thing, is it?" he teases, his hands on Gabriela's and Tim's shoulders.

Paris mouths _fuck you_ to him and smiles.

"Can I get you anything? A drink, food?" Clementina asks.

"I'm okay, thanks."

Clementina turns to Paris with a sly smile. "Should I…?"

"I can handle it," Paris interrupts her smoothly.

"Of course. Well, in that case, I will see you next week, yes?"

"Yes, thank you Clementina."

Clementina has family coming in from Portugal early tomorrow morning and she'll be staying with them in a nice hotel overlooking Central Park, which she'll be staying in tonight since it's the least Paris could do for making her endure the last week of madness.

Clementina heads upstairs to grab her belongings.

"Do you want to play Candyland?" Gabriela asks. "We can start a new game."

Jess looks at the board, confusion evident on his face. "Where are the cards?"

"They updated the game a few years ago. Now it's a spinner," Paris explains.

He raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yeah. It's weird. But there's less chance of damage or loss of property."

"You can be yellow," Tim tells Jess.

"Okay."

Jess has never played Candyland in his life, which is pretty evident early into the game.

Paris hands him the directions after the first round.

"You know, if you need more time –" he starts quietly.

"I love you," she interrupts him. "Study those directions so you don't look like a fool."

He smiles and shakes his head, but does as she tells him.

**

Jess stops in the doorway of Paris’ room.

She smiles at him.

"We, uh…there was a kiss, but it was a goodbye kind of thing," he tells her, his gaze never wavering.

"Thank you for telling me," Paris says. And she is thankful that he's honest, even when she wasn't going to ask him – he could've kept that secret if he wanted.

He remains in the doorway.

"Do you want a written invitation?" she asks with a raised brow.

"I'm trying to not be presumptuous."

"How very gentlemanly of you, but I'd rather you just get in here because you're going to need to shower before getting into that bed."

He finally gets into the room and shuts the door behind him. "Paris?"

She's in the middle of adding a spot treatment to her jaw – she can feel a breakout coming in. "Yeah?"

"I love you too."

She peaks her head out of the bathroom. "Aw."

He smiles widely. "I know."

She grins back.

**

Paris does force Jess to shower, but that’s all she has patience for.

“I need to at least towel dry my hair - you’re going to be pissed if I soak a pillow or the mattress,” he says as he takes a step back into the bathroom when she strides over to rip that stupid towel off his hips.

She grimaces as she stops in place. “Mold.”

He nods as he grabs her towel to dry his hair. Her grimace deepens.

“I _promise_ to do the laundry tomorrow - I thought you were in a rush?” he teases.

“Are you trying to turn me off with talk of mold and using my towel to dry your hair so I have to use another towel tomorrow?”

“I’m trying to retain brain function for the both of us at the moment since I know it will all upset you afterwards. I’m just being a good partner.”

She tries not to smile and fails. “Fine. You can make it up to me by bringing your Excel sheets to bed.”

“You make that sound so dirty,” he sighs as he towel-dries his hair.

“It will inevitably lead to something dirty once I finish going over your accounts.”

He lifts his head and starts folding the towel.

“Now you’re just fucking with me.”

He grins in response.

“Get over here,” she demands.

He does and he’s still smiling when she pulls his face to hers. But he stops smiling soon enough and she feels the shift when Jess cups her face in his hands, his mouth fierce and hot and yearning. She clutches at his shoulders and his hair, leading him toward her bed and pulling him down on her.

He’s a good kisser - one of the best - but there’s something about those hot, hungry, open-mouthed kisses he does that totally and absolutely ruins her for anyone else.

She attempts to remove this towel around his waist, but he’s making it hard for her to coordinate when he starts nosing at a sensitive spot between her neck and shoulder.

“Get this _off_ ,” she insists, but it comes out in an exhale.

She’s no help pulling at it, but he gets it off eventually and he has an easier time removing her pajama shorts and underwear. Her legs fall open and wrap around him, urging him to slide inside her. “Just -” she starts, gasping when he fucks into her. “ _Yeah._ ”

His rhythm is steady and hard, her rolling her hips in time and she thinks despite the desperation she feels as she grips his hips, his shoulders, wordlessly urging him to touch her clit until he he does, that their _consensus ad idem_ is the sort of something she wanted against her well-honed cynicism and she feels settled.

**

Jess rests his head on her - his - pillow and his hair is still damp, but Paris doesn’t care right now.

“You know,” she starts. “No one has ever remotely insinuated that I make anyone’s life easier.”

He grins. “I could say the same.”

“That is definitely not true,” she scoffs.

“I am a very good worker when I want to do something,” he admits. “But I still fuck up the personal shit often enough to be irritating.”

“Well, my life is definitely easier with you in it.”

He laughs a little. “And Clementina’s.”

“Absolutely.”

He shakes his head, still smiling - _give me your own special smile_. “I think my baggage doesn’t feel as heavy.”

She reaches out to curl his hair behind his ear and smiles back.

**

Since the kids are with Doyle for Thanksgiving in LA, Paris has the interesting option of attending someone else's Thanksgiving.

"Philly is an option. Everyone misses us," Jess throws out there as they discuss it over dinner the second week of November.

"We'd be the center of attention. For _days_ ," she points out.

He grimaces. "Fuck."

She smiles in amusement. "There is always Stars Hollow."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I don't know. I'm trying with Rory. She offered. I thought it would be like ripping off a band aid. We could come and go the same day. You can see Doula. Unless you don't want to sully the holiday with being near Liz."

He sighs. "I don't know if I could do a full day yet."

"We could be on our own. I order from a great restaurant."

"Okay, have you _ever_ had a home cooked Thanksgiving?"

She doesn't have to think long about it. "No. Always catered. Or ignored."

"Two choices, then. I cook the entire meal, or we go to Philly and suffer the attention."

"If we go to Philly, will I get food poisoning from one of your friends who doesn't know how to properly check the temperature of the meat?"

He smiles charmingly. "We fry it."

She puts her fork down and walks away from the table. He laughs.

**

From Paris Geller:  
 _How the ever loving fuck are you FRYING A TURKEY IN THE MIDDLE OF A CITY???_

From Matthew Steinman:  
 _COME TO PHILLY AND YOU WILL SEE!!!_

From Chris Alston:  
 _We break a law or two and pray we don't get caught._

From Paris Geller:  
 _Well, at least this year you'll have someone who can bail your stupid asses out of jail._

From Matthew Steinman:  
 _I'll have you know I make sure everyone is safe. Hazmat suits are involved._

From Paris Geller:  
 _Oh for the love of Christ._

**

Critically thinking of this situation – a _boyfriend_ moving into her house to live with her and her two young children after technically two months and change of dating is absolute insanity, even if they were friends for months prior and he was always staying at her house.

Maybe Paris Geller is losing it – it was bound to happen again, her cracking under immense stress – first the event that must not be referenced at Yale, and now this:

The consequences of last year's election that also must not be referenced, perfecting how to interact with her ex-husband and share custody of their children, the emotional fall out that comes with it, the ever-growing distance between her and Rory, which she hopes to get lose soon, falling in love again, but in a new, different way than took her by surprise.

(When you know, you know.)

She tries to get to the beginning of her text thread with Jess when she's feeling nostalgic on the one-year anniversary when she first harassed him to babysit her kids, but she gives up two months into scrolling since there's just too much. 

Paris puts her phone down and focuses back on the movie she's watching with her kids and Jess – _The Great Mouse Detective_ since it's one of the few Disney movies Jess got to see growing up and he claims it's one of the more faithful adaptations to Holmes, despite it also being an adaptation of a children's series.

Plus, it only has two songs.

She loves watching Jess check in on the kids to make sure they're enjoying it. At one point, he looks at her.

"You know that autobiography I wrote?" he asks suddenly during the middle of a musical number. He's careful to keep his tone low.

They talked about it a few months ago at the end of August, the nightmare it would be to publish it, but he eventually decided he didn't need it out for the world – it was really for him and for those he loved. Since then, he's sent it to Sasha and Lily, who will share it with Val, and he sent it to Luke, who took the time to look up every single character and cried a little on the phone. Maybe more people will get it in the future. He's playing it by ear.

"Yeah?" Paris leans toward him now the kids have left the couch and are on the floor.

"I thought about you. You'd break the fourth wall."

"Do I even want to know?"

"It involves my cursing out Nabokov for writing lines, when taken out of their original context of a pedophile worshipping a child, that are genuinely heartfelt. And you cursing me out for even considering it in the first place."

Paris grins. "I'm sure someone else would come to you."

"Darcy."

" _Really_? My liveliness of my mind?"

"Funnily enough, yeah – the same conversation."

_I was in the middle before I knew I had begun._ "We just need some Bukowski and we've come in full circle. A solid conclusion of a narrative."

"'Some moments are nice, some are nicer, some are even worth writing about.'"

"Perfect."


End file.
